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A Celibate's Wife 
 
A Celibate's Wife 
 
 By- 
 
 Herbert Flowerdew 
 
 **yf man's conscience is a dead thing unless he is 
 prepared to break at its command every latv that the 
 ■world holds sacred. " — The Unknown Man. 
 
 John Lane : The Bodley Head 
 
 London and New York 
 
 1899 
 
Second Edition 
 
 All rights reserved 
 
A Celibate's Wife 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 An inventory, taken after his tragic death, of the contents of 
 Canon Presyllett's study, included, among other things, a set 
 of old oak library furniture, an early-English organ " of great 
 interest to collectors," although it was not in playing order, 
 several brass candlesticks, a beautifully carved crucifix and 
 rosary (merely articles-de-vertu, of course, in the house of an 
 Anglican clergyman), a brazier for burning incense, together 
 with a quaintly carved old vase containing a supply of the 
 same, and a Turkey carpet, sombre in colouring, but of 
 luxurious thickness. The large stained-glass window which 
 threw a subdued light on it all was not included in the in- 
 ventory, although it had been erected by the Canon at his 
 own expense. The window was a matter for the Ecclesiastical 
 Commissioners to consider in summing up the dilapidations 
 and repairs that the Rectory of Windlehurst had undergone 
 during the Canon's residence there. The inventory of the 
 room's contents was taken for valuation purposes, and a price, 
 in pounds, shillings, and pence, was sacrilegiously set even 
 upon the crucifix. The supply of incense in the vase was 
 worth half-a-crown. 
 
 But pounds, shillings, and pence are poor standards when 
 we try to sum up the real value of things, and the inventory 
 bore no mention of the faint smell of incense which hung 
 perpetually over the room, of the changing cathedral-lights 
 which fell across the soundless carpet, of the hushed old- 
 world air which, would .Jja. last like the spirit of a dead man 
 
 ^' 961713 
 
 
6 A CELIBATE'S WIFE 
 
 when the part?. wf re separated. For that task some unit of 
 <?iiiption .ikjiefeded "io show the value of the study's contents ; 
 the. aid which they.gave to the Canon's devotion when, with 
 lock^; 1d.6ot; he- flilig* himself in an abandonment of prayer 
 before the antique praying-stool which had belonged to a 
 martyred bishop of the middle ages ; the effect which it had 
 in subduing, with its sensuous calm, the everyday thoughts 
 of those who came across the threshold to seek the Canon's 
 counsel or advice. 
 
 The involuntary awe which the room itself inspired was 
 strong on the Squire of Windlehurst when he called upon the 
 Canon with his friend Gabriel Lyne, and was ushered by the 
 Rector's solemn housemaid into the study. 
 
 His voice was a little less bluff than usual, and he plunged 
 into the business that had brought him with a nervous lack 
 of periphrasis. 
 
 " Evening, Canon. I have brought my friend Lyne round 
 to talk about the Sunday opening of the reading-room. You 
 see, it is like this. Canon. At present we are evenly matched, as 
 you know, for and against, on the committee, and I have the 
 casting vote. So far I have given it to your side, but Lyne 
 has been arguing with me, and he has made it look very much 
 as if I ought to turn round. Oh ! by the way, you have not 
 actually met before, have you ? Mr. Lyne — Canon Presyllett." 
 
 He paused as if he expected the two men to shake hands, 
 but the Rector only inclined his head very slightly, and 
 Gabriel Lyne used the hand he had moved, to push back the 
 hair from his square forehead. 
 
 Only the good-natured Squire changed colour, and he 
 spoke more rapidly to cover his annoyance. 
 
 " I thought that the most friendly and straightforward 
 course would be to bring Lyne here to talk to you. I can't 
 see anything wrong in his arguments myself, but I believe in 
 hearing both sides." 
 
 The whiff of the incense in his nostrils, and the cathedral 
 glow of the setting sun filtered through the painted window, 
 like truth passed through a religious setting, accounted for 
 the accent of apology. Involuntarily it had made him feel 
 a bias on the side of the Canon, and the straightforward 
 
A CELIBATE'S WIFE 7 
 
 honesty which outside had made him drag Gabriel Lyne to 
 the Rectory took a colouring of impiety in his eyes in the 
 study. He was not analytical enough to account for the 
 change, or think of realising that all the prima facie evidence 
 the Rector had on his side was one stained-glass window, one 
 set of old oak furniture, including a mediaeval organ out of 
 repair, one brazier for burning incense, and so on according 
 to the inventory. 
 
 Gabriel Lyne had already dissected the influence which the 
 place had just as involuntarily exercised upon him, and had 
 steeled himself against it as against the influence of a harlot's 
 patchouli perfume. To him it was the mechanical effect of 
 an unholy attempt to bias thought with sensuous emotion; 
 but to the Squire — he glanced from the face of his friend, cold 
 with the mental effort he was making against an appeal to 
 his senses, to that of the thin-visaged ascetic haloed by the 
 light till it looked to him that of a saint, and saw himself 
 pitting not the honest opinion of one man against that of 
 another, but the opinion of the world against that of God. 
 
 In personal appearance the representative of the world had, 
 by a worldly valuation, more to recommend him than the 
 exponent of God. They were both tall men, but the Canon 
 had the narrow-chested gauntness of the ascetic, and his 
 clerical dress failed to conceal a graceless want of proportion 
 in his long-bodied form. The same want of proportion was 
 visible in his face, with its preponderating chin. The coarse- 
 ness of the lower part indeed, with its loose-lipped mouth, 
 would have suggested the character of a sensualist, but for the 
 evident signs of fasting and self-abnegation which thinned and 
 refined the whole expression, and for the large devotional 
 brown eyes above — the eyes of a genuine religious enthusiast. 
 The sharp-pointed nose gave an added keenness to the face, 
 which in a natural light was pale and sallow, but now, in 
 the combined colouring of sunset and painted glass, glowed 
 with a strange brightness to which the luminous emotional 
 eyes added effect. Unconsciously no doubt, the Rector 
 of Windlehurst had studied the effects of his window as the 
 actor studies the effects of the limelight, and had taken up 
 his position with one gaunt arm on the mantelshelf, to 
 
8 A CELIBATE'S WIFE 
 
 catch the chief ray of light in the room. If his visitors 
 had called a litde later when the candles were lighted, he 
 would have stood, with the unconsciousness of habit, at the 
 other side of the room. 
 
 All the men were still standing, Gabriel Lyne with a taut 
 erectness which showed his attitude of mind as clearly as it 
 displayed the perfection of his physical proportions. In face 
 and figure he showed neither the starved thinness of the 
 ecclesiastic nor the comfortable fleshiness of the coarser-framed 
 Squire. His body was that of a sensibly trained athlete, every 
 limb rounded and supple, but owing its form to muscle alone. 
 His handsome head and face put into readable hieroglyphics 
 the chief facts of his character, the general balance of his 
 features showing the balance of his emotions and mental 
 powers, while a sharp curve in the eyebrow, a slight excess of 
 ridged nose, his bright grey eye, and something about the 
 strong mouth and chin, explained how his character had been 
 saved from the general fate of forces-in-equilibrium. It was 
 these slight variations from perfect symmetry which, without 
 spoiUng Gabriel Lyne's good looks, enabled one to understand 
 how his name had become a byword in Windlehurst as that 
 of the chief opponent of religion — as Windlehurst understood 
 religion. But it was the inert sweetness of balanced forces rather 
 than the initiative strength of predominating ones in his char- 
 acter which led to his presence in the ascetic's study. He 
 wished to please his friend the Squire, but he had no hope of 
 any practical result from the interview. Starting from such 
 different bases as that of the Rector and his own, all argument 
 between them was sure to be merely a play of words ; and if 
 the Squire was to be influenced at all on either side, it must 
 be by mere dramatic display on his part or the churchman's. 
 Even to gain an object so dear to him as the Sunday opening 
 of the village reading-room, Gabriel was too honest to stoop 
 to merely dramatic methods. The Canon might do so, not 
 that he was consciously dishonest, but because his mind had 
 never questioned the honesty of dramatic display. All that 
 the juster — from a worldly standpoint — man of the two could 
 hope to do was to detect the display and point out its dis- 
 honesty, and he did not look forward to the encounter. 
 
A CELIBATE'S WIFE 9 
 
 The Canon appeared no more desirous for it. 
 
 " The subject appears to me to have been worn threadbare 
 at the meetings of the reading-room committee, Mr. Gateacre," 
 he said, addressing the Squire with a studied avoidance of 
 Lyne's presence. His voice was a low deep one, and its 
 intonation — that of a man who has studied talking as an 
 art — made the Squire's more natural tone seem by contrast 
 less in accord than ever with the incense-tinged room. The 
 latter had regained its bluffness at the remembrance of the 
 committee debates, in which the Canon had not always ap- 
 peared to complete advantage. 
 
 "Oh! but Lyne is not on the committee," he said, and 
 a smile flitted momentarily across the clergyman's thin loose 
 lips, which disappeared as the Squire went on enthusiastically, 
 **and Lyne does not argue like Hodges and Benson. He 
 goes down to the root of the matter." 
 
 " But I cannot see that any advantage would .arise from 
 my discussing the question with a gentleman who is not on 
 the committee," said the Rector, his persuasive smoothness 
 of speech contrasting again with the Squire's outburst. 
 
 " You may please yourself, of course. Canon, but the fact 
 of Lyne's not being on the committee does not prevent his 
 talking to me. I only thought that you might like to show 
 me where his weak point is, since I cannot see it for myself, 
 before I take his advice and give the casting vote the other 
 way, when the subject is reopened, as it is sure to be. After 
 what Lyne has been saying, I shall reopen the question myself 
 if nobody else does." 
 
 With a dramatic gesture the Rector spread out his long 
 bony hands that had been tightly clasped. 
 
 " If you are prepared to take a step so fraught with real 
 harm and danger to the villagers under your temporal care, 
 Mr. Gateacre, I can only deplore that you have allowed an 
 influence so mischievous to guide you." 
 
 The Squire was evidently cowed by the pastoral rebuke, 
 but chivalry to his friend rather than any realisation of the 
 fact that Canon Presyllett was simply "begging" the ques- 
 tion overcame even the influence of the room, and he still 
 answered warmly. 
 
lo A CELIBATE'S WIFE 
 
 " But that is just the point I want deciding — whether Lyne's 
 influence is mischievous, and if so, where its mischief Ues." 
 
 "Any influence must be bad which urges you to introduce into 
 our Christian country the deplorable Continental Sunday," said 
 the Rector impressively, shifting his position slightly as he saw 
 that the sun had passed beyond his face and caught the carved 
 crucifix on the mantelshelf behind him. " I have often pointed 
 out that the opening of reading-rooms and free libraries on 
 Sunday is only the thin end of the wedge which would see 
 us ultimately plunged into the most deplorable dissipations 
 and excesses." 
 
 He still avoided even glancing in the direction of Gabriel, 
 who stood silent and almost motionless, with just the twinkle 
 of an amused smile in his ready grey eyes at the fight which 
 was to be waged before Canon Presyllett cared to exchange 
 opinions with him. It was the first time that he had met the 
 clergyman at such close quarters, and he spent his time 
 analysing the worn face in much the same way as he had 
 analysed the effect produced by the furniture of the room. 
 
 The Squire, responsible for his presence, was chafingat the hos- 
 tility shown him, and hastened to drag him into the argument. 
 
 " Ah ! the Continental Sunday. What have you to say 
 about that, Lyne ? " he asked, turning to him. 
 
 " I think it preferable to the English one," said Gabriel, 
 speaking for the first time, his voice more naturally musical 
 than the churchman's, but lacking its studied cadence. " But 
 I have no wish to drag the Canon into a discussion against 
 his will, if you have. Squire." His grey eyes lighted up with 
 an irresistible smile. 
 
 The Squire only looked angry. 
 
 *' You had plenty to say to me why the reading-room should 
 be opened without getting down to religion at all. Why don't 
 you say it to Presylett ? " 
 
 " I shall be most happy to, if he wishes to hear it. But 
 that is just the question you were trying to decide — whether 
 he wishes it or not. A man has as much right to his wishes 
 as his opinions, and when I unwillingly agreed to come with 
 you here, I certainly did not agree to invade Canon Presyllett's 
 house with my opinions, against his will." 
 
A CELIBATE'S WIFE ii 
 
 It is stated to be part of English Court etiquette that any 
 stranger dining with the Queen must address to a third person 
 anything he has to say to her, to whom her Majesty in turn 
 addresses any answer she has to make. Squire Gateacre had 
 read of the fact somewhere, and as the remembrance of it 
 flashed into his mind he pitied his sovereign and her guests, 
 and the personage who played the part of third person most 
 of all. His own present experience told him that the duty 
 could not be a pleasant one. He looked appealingly towards 
 the Canon. 
 
 *' I am quite willing to talk over with Mr. Lyne the merely 
 moral aspect of the question," said Presyllett. " Apart from 
 the religious side of the question altogether, there seem to 
 me the most weighty objections against the opening of the 
 reading-room on the day of rest. Surely on a basis of 
 common fairness, Mr. Lyne, if you would encourage the 
 villagers to give up the day to purely secular pursuits, you 
 cannot think it right to compel the custodian of the reading- 
 room to work seven days a week, and ride rough-shod over 
 his religious scruples." 
 
 It was the first time that he had addressed the rationalist 
 directly, and Gabriel's manner changed instantly from that of 
 a mere onlooker. His expressive face filled with animation. 
 
 " It seems to me that it would be wiser to find a substitute 
 for Jenkinson once a week," he said, turning to his opponent, 
 " rather than that the whole village should lose the chance of 
 reading while he takes a rest. There are plenty of reliable 
 men in the place who would be only too glad of the position." 
 
 " It would increase the cost of the reading-room," said 
 the Rector, and Gabriel smiled. 
 
 " By half-a-crown a week. If the place is worth its cost 
 during six days when the men have very little time to use it, 
 then it must be worth its cost on the seventh when they have 
 the whole day to read. We are putting the religious aspect 
 on one side, by your permission. And you cannot prove, I 
 think, on any but religious grounds, that the only means of 
 giving the custodian a day off is to close the reading-room 
 altogether on the very day when the villagers have most 
 opportunity of using it," 
 
12 A CELIBATE'S WIFE 
 
 "That is how Lyne put it to me," interposed the Squire 
 eagerly. " What have you to say to it, Canon ? " 
 
 A shade of reUef passed over the clergyman's face at find- 
 ing that he had Gateacre to answer instead of Lyne. He 
 drew himself up with a touch of his impressive pulpit manner. 
 
 "I am surprised that you, a churchman and a communi- 
 cant, should look for any but the religious objection to dese- 
 crating the Sunday in this manner, Mr. Gateacre." 
 
 The Squire fidgeted uneasily under his Rector's reproving 
 glance, but the presence of his rationalist friend sustained 
 his courage. 
 
 "I am not saying that I would use the reading-room 
 myself on Sunday, Canon. That is not the question. It is 
 whether I ought to prevent other people, who have not my 
 religious objections, from using it. Every man has a right 
 to his religious or irreHgious opinions. We do not think of 
 compelling a man to go to church or say his prayers against 
 his will nowadays; and compelling him not to read a news- 
 paper on Sunday seems on all-fours with doing so. You 
 need not talk about my own religious convictions, Canon. I 
 want to know what right I have to force them on other 
 people." 
 
 " The welfare of the village is in a way entrusted to your 
 care, Mr. Gateacre. You ought to make it a matter of prayer 
 that you should fulfil wisely, and according to God's will, the 
 important trust that He has placed in your hands. You have 
 not attended any of the mission services which I have 
 been holding this week, I believe — " He waved his bony 
 hands, as the Squire was about to make an excuse. " I 
 have no doubt that your duties have been too pressing. I 
 was only going to say that I hope you will be able to attend 
 this evening. My address will be about our duties to others. 
 If you could meet me in the vestry afterwards, I should 
 be glad to join with you in prayer to God that you may be 
 rightly guided in this important matter of the Sunday opening 
 of the reading-room." 
 
 Gabriel Lyne's lip curved a little scornfully. He took the 
 suggestion as a proposal that the poor Squire should accept 
 the Canon's own views without argument, and attempt by 
 
A CELIBATE'S WIFE 13 
 
 the aid of an emotional exercise to quell the scruples of fair- 
 ness and justice which made him at present oppose them. 
 Mr. Gateacre stood undecided, feeling the same thing, but 
 distrusting his feeling as something irreligious. The clergy- 
 man pursued his advantage. 
 
 " The service will commence in an hour's time," he said, 
 glancing at his watch. "It would save you a walk, if you 
 would care to share my frugal dinner. I should be glad if 
 your friend could stay too, although I am afraid that he 
 would not care to attend the service." 
 
 He glanced towards the rationalist with a polite geniality, 
 but his face showed little regret when Gabriel pleaded that 
 his work would not allow him to accept the invitation. 
 
 "The Infidel," as they called him in Windlehurst, was 
 conscious that the Rector had adroitly taken a rather unfair 
 advantage of him in the strug'gle between them for the Squire's 
 decision, but he had too perfect a faith in the comparative 
 truth of his opinions to think of joining in a game of finesse 
 in order to gain a triumph for them. 
 
 The Squire looked rather shamefaced as he shook hands 
 with him after the Canon, when the young man took his 
 leave; but there was neither reproach nor regret in Gabriel's 
 friendly face. 
 
 "To-night Presyllett will have a good fling at Gateacre's 
 emotional side," he said to himself. "To-morrOw I must 
 have my turn with his reason." 
 
 Unconsciously he was preparing, as he left the house, the 
 arguments which he would use to show the Squire the un- 
 fairness of Canon Presyllett's method of conviction, based as 
 it was upon the a priori acceptance of the idea that the 
 Canon was right and another man wrong. He was getting 
 ready the cold douche of common-sense with which he hoped 
 to clear his friend's mind after the debauch of prayer which 
 lay before him, and he walked down the broad gravel drive 
 which led from the Rectory to the road scarcely conscious 
 of the beauty of the old-fashioned garden with its well-kept 
 lawns, and gravel paths, its ancient yews, and absence of 
 flowers, which gave it an air of asceticism. Its neatness and 
 its size, as he entered the place half-an-hour before with the 
 
14 A CELIBATE'S WIFE 
 
 Squire, had made him calculate that the Canon must employ 
 at least two gardeners. 
 
 " The garden of an ascetic, you see," the Squire had said, 
 with a wave of his hand towards the yews and the perfectly 
 trimmed box hedges; and Gabriel had replied with a smile, 
 which Gateacre did not altogether understand — 
 
 "Yes; the ascetic must spend a good deal of money to 
 keep it so." 
 
 Now his thoughts no longer concerned themselves with his 
 surroundings, although in a less thoughtful mood he would 
 have stopped to admire the red gleam of the setting sun that 
 shot through the gaunt arms of the old trees and threw their 
 long shadows peacefully across the lawn. 
 
 He was only roused from his thoughts by the clicking of 
 the gate, and glancing up, saw approaching him a figure 
 strangely in keeping with the convent-like garden. It was 
 that of a girl in a plain grey cloak, and a Quaker-like little 
 bonnet of the same colour. It was her attitude rather than 
 her dress, however, which suggested the nun to his mind; for 
 the plainness of the latter was rendered unnoticeable by the 
 grace of her tall slender figure and the refined beauty of her 
 face, with its frame of neatly parted red-gold hair, which the 
 sun turned into a halo under the prim bonnet. She walked 
 with a slow meditative step which fell noiselessly on the 
 gravel, her long slender hands clasped before her, and her 
 eyes demurely on the ground. 
 
 Lyne, who loved everything that was beautiful, hoped that 
 she would raise them as she passed him, but the hope was a 
 vain one. Their long lashes seemed to touch her rounded 
 cheek as she walked slowly by, and she took no more notice 
 of him than a real nun would have done in the presence of 
 her lady superior. 
 
 The young man turned to glance after her with interest and 
 pity in his mind — interest because of the undoubted beauty 
 which her devout dress and air had failed to conceal, pity 
 because of her devoutness. 
 
 " Poor girl," he said to himself, with a sigh that was half 
 sympathy and half bitterness, and then he hurried after her 
 with a smile in his eyes. 
 
A CELIBATE'S WIFE 15 
 
 " Pardon me, you have dropped your handkerchief." 
 
 She was obliged to raise her eyes to his as she took it from 
 him and thanked him in a voice as beautiful as her face, but 
 set in an intonation as prim as her bonnet. Her eyes were 
 of a deep grey that was almost blue, but Gabriel did not see 
 their colour as his own met them for one moment. He was 
 one of those men who receive impressions and examine the 
 details which have produced them carefully afterwards ; and 
 on this occasion he had time only for the impression. It was 
 that the " nun," as he had called her to himself, was a sweet 
 girl, and that he would like to know herj and he turned back 
 to the gate feeling more pitiful than ever to think that some 
 false priest-made view of the Creator had compelled her to 
 hide the beautiful red-gold hair He had given her under an 
 ugly bonnet, and trim the music of her voice into a hackneyed 
 primness. 
 
 The pity of it kept her in his thoughts all the way home, to 
 the complete exclusion of the Squire and the reading-room ; 
 and he found himself wondering again and again who the girl 
 could be, and what her business was at the Rectory. 
 
 "Can she be sister to that emotional egotist, the worthy 
 Canon ? " he said to himself. " I suppose such men have 
 sisters, although it is hard to imagine. He is too holy to have 
 a wife, but all the holiness in the world cannot save him from 
 having a mother, much as he may desire to escape the pollu- 
 tion of such a fact, and the mother may have added to her 
 sins by having other children. Yes, I suppose she is his 
 sister, and under his thumb at present, but her eyes looked 
 honest enough to make one hope that she may escape some 
 day. I hope she will, and wear nice clothes, and be a woman 
 instead of a nun." 
 
CHAPTER II 
 
 " There is another thing that I wanted to talk to you about, 
 Canon," said the bluff Squire when he was left alone with 
 Presyllett. 
 
 He was feeling in a vague way that he had scarcely acted 
 with fairness towards his young friend in delivering himself 
 over to the clergyman's undiluted arguments, and changed 
 the subject as a compromise with his conscience 
 
 "There is another thing I wanted to talk about, Canon. 
 As you have been saying, the village is in a way under my 
 care, and I am sure that I try and do my best to look after 
 it. I listen to all the complaints I hear, and try to satisfy 
 everybody." 
 
 " I am sure that you do, and am always glad to think that 
 Windlehurst has at its head a man so conscious of his respon- 
 sibilities," said the Rector, with a touch of that unconscious 
 insolence which we take as a natural thing from a man who 
 has passed certain examinations and had a bishop's hands laid 
 upon him. " What is the latest complaint in the village? " 
 
 " It is a complaint against you, Canon." 
 
 The clergyman's placid smile of pastoral interest died away 
 suddenly. 
 
 " Against myself? " 
 
 " Yes. It is a complaint that I have heard on and off" ever 
 since you came here ; but since these mission services of yours 
 began, I have heard nothing else, from the ladies at any rate 
 in the parish. I thought that the fairest thing would be to 
 mention it to you. If it is anybody's duty, I suppose it is 
 mine, and although the matter is one of conscience with you, 
 I believe, still it seems to me that you ought to know both 
 sides of the question." 
 
 i6 
 
A CELIBATE'S WIFE 17 
 
 A look of bewilderment on the Canon's face struggled with 
 a meek smile of Christian humility. 
 
 " If my parishioners have any grievance against me, it is 
 certainly right that I should know it," he said with a mixture 
 of resignation and curiosity. " What is it ? " 
 
 The suggestion that it was connected with a matter of 
 conscience on his part had come as a relief to him. In the 
 first shock he had almost feared that it might be indictment 
 against his etiquette, which every man feels to be worse than 
 an indictment against his religious views. Possibly it was 
 the old revolt against certain practices of his which the parish 
 chose to consider popish. Not that the Canon could have 
 graduated before a more critical board of examiners as even a 
 consistent High Churchman. The Ritualistic movement had 
 touched him, it is true, in his University days, but only on 
 his emotional side, and the tinge of ceremonial with which 
 he alarmed his rustic congregation, like the incense which he 
 burned in his study, was due rather to the theatrical trend of 
 his mind than to any weakening of the purely Evangelical 
 principles with which he had been brought up, and which 
 still directed his attitude of thought. Captain Benson, a High 
 Churchman who was rendered indignant by the Rector's strict 
 Sabbatarianism, had once spoken of him to the Squire as a 
 John Knox playing at being a priest. His fasting and his 
 celibacy, too, owed less to the example of the Romish Church 
 than to principles evolved logically from his Evangelical creed, 
 and shaped by his individual cast of mind, with some assist- 
 ance from the Early Fathers, who in his University days had 
 managed to gain audience with his conscience. 
 
 " If my conscience will permit me," he went on, allowing the 
 gleam from the stained window to illuminate his thin face, " I 
 shall be most ready to remove the grievance, whatever it is." 
 
 " That is just it," said the Squire, " whether your conscience 
 will allow you. It is that which makes me rather diffident 
 about talking the matter over with you. You see. Canon, 
 what all the parishioners are saying is, that you ought to be 
 a married man." 
 
 "Indeed!" said the Canon, flushing slightly; and the 
 Squire ran on hastily — 
 
 B 
 
iS A CELIBATE'S WIFE 
 
 " You see, it is like this, Presyllett. You know what women 
 are like in a parish where there is an unmarried clergyman, 
 each one suspecting the other of setting her cap at him. 
 It is not as if you were a Romanist and really bound to 
 celibacy." 
 
 "I am bound by my own private vows," interrupted the 
 clergyman. 
 
 ** Just s^ j but when so many clergymen marry, it can only 
 be a matter of opinion with you to prefer celibacy, and the 
 best of us change our opinions. I do not think myself that 
 you will change yours, but the ladies of the parish think 
 you may, and it makes their position rather uncomfortable. 
 Now, in your mission services last week you invited any- 
 body who wished, to speak to you privately either in the 
 vestry after the service or at the Rectory. I understand 
 that there have been a good many ladies touched by your 
 addresses who would like to avail themselves of this invitation, 
 but who dare not, on account of public opinion. Putting aside 
 the propriety of a lady visiting an unmarried man at his house 
 — which it is foolish to question, of course, in the case of a 
 clergyman — the ladies feel that they cannot come here without 
 a malicious rumour going round the village that they are 
 trying to lure you into matrimony. The malicious backbiting 
 which is at the root of the matter is wrong, of course, but 
 that does not prevent it existing and affecting people. It is so 
 strong, the Misses Gaydon inform me — very worthy maiden 
 ladies, as you know. Canon — that they dare not engage in 
 parish work of any description on account of it." 
 
 " But surely nobody would suspect Miss Prudence or Miss 
 Iphigenia of wishing to marry me," said the Canon, with a 
 faint smile, as he thought of the two prim old maids whose 
 opinion the Squire had introduced. 
 
 The temporal head of the village flung out his fat hands. 
 
 " Everybody is suspected. I do not know what it is about 
 a clergyman that makes every woman either anxious to marry 
 him herself, or afraid of every other woman in the place 
 wanting to. Not that it is to be wondered at in your case, 
 Presyllett. It makes the fact that you are a bachelor a real 
 hindrance to your spiritual work in the parish." 
 
A CELIBATE'S WIFE 19 
 
 " And you think that therefore I ought to marry ? " asked 
 the Canon, with a seriousness in his voice which made it sound 
 as though he were really anxious for the Squire's opinion. 
 
 The seriousness was not assumed. Many many times the 
 idea of marriage had come to him as a temptation, which his 
 loose-lipped mouth and coarse chin explained, and he uncon- 
 sciously welcomed its recurrence in the light of a duty. 
 
 With the ordinary man, the angel and the beast in him 
 contend over the question of one mate or many. With 
 Canon Presyllett, the angel being indued with ascetic notions, 
 handed over the question of one mate to the beast, and found 
 his work all the harder in consequence. That the beast with 
 such added powers, love and the domestic virtues on his side, 
 could be controlled at all, argued well for the strength of 
 Canon Presyllett's character. But with the strongest characters 
 the beast is for ever trying to disguise himself in the angel's 
 feathers, and he was busy now as the Squire pleaded against 
 the Rector's celibacy in the name of the parish's welfare. 
 
 The Canon detected the imposture, and shook his head 
 with a sigh. 
 
 " I have always been conscious of the disadvantages you 
 suggest which arise from my unmarried state," he said 
 thoughtfully, "although they have never been stated to me 
 so clearly; but I cannot help feeling that for me marriage 
 would be a sin. I do not judge those ministers of God who 
 marry ; it is a matter for their own consciences ; but with my 
 views of a priest's duty, the taking of a wife would be wrong. 
 It has always seemed to me that a priest of God should show 
 his flock the highest ideal of purity, and make no compromise 
 with the world and the flesh." 
 
 " Many very holy men marry," said the Squire, thinking at the 
 
 moment of the bishop of the diocese, who had seven daughters. 
 
 "But Christ did not," said the Canon; and the Squire 
 
 subsided, and began to apologise for the temerity which had 
 
 made him suggest marriage to such a holy man. 
 
 The Canon was very kind about it, complimenting him on 
 the unselfish interest in those around him which had prompted 
 the suggestion, and admitting the gravity of the disadvantages 
 which arose from his own views. 
 
20 A CELIBATE'S WIFE 
 
 " I am very anxious," he went on, " to do my whole duty 
 by my flock, and I have sought in prayer for some means 
 of meeting the real bar to my work among the ladies of the 
 parish which is raised by my celibacy. I still hope that God 
 will raise up some way for me." 
 
 There was a tap at the door as he spoke, and the solemn 
 housemaid announced that Miss Gaydon wished for an inter- 
 view with the Canon. 
 
 "Is it Miss Prudence or Miss Iphigenia?" asked the 
 Canon, who was surprised after what the Squire had been 
 saying to receive a visit from either of the old maids. 
 
 " Neither, sir — a young lady." 
 
 " Oh ! their niece," said the Canon half to himself, and his 
 face became a little more animated as he turned to the Squire. 
 
 "Perhaps you would not mind waiting for me in the 
 drawing-room, Gateacre, until dinner. One of my lady 
 parishioners is anxious for a talk with me." 
 
 He laid a slight stress on the "lady," for the fact offered 
 some contradiction to what the Squire had been saying. 
 
 " I am afraid she does not know what the good ladies of 
 Windlehurst are like," said the Squire. "This niece of the 
 Gaydons has only been staying with them a month or two, 
 hasn't she ? " 
 
 The Canon nodded, and stepped slowly across the hall to 
 the little anteroom at the other side, where the Nun, as Gabriel 
 Lyne had called her, had been left by the solemn housemaid. 
 As the Squire turned into the austerely and expensively fur- 
 nished drawing-room he caught a glance of Canon Presyllett's 
 gaunt figure and the girl's graceful one as they entered the old- 
 world study together, and he paused to listen whether the key 
 turned in the lock, as it usually did when the Rector was 
 about to talk and pray with a seeker after holiness. 
 
 The worthy Squire, who was always puzzled, found himself 
 unconsciously comparing the claims of God and Mrs. Grundy. 
 
 But no thought of worldly propriety was in the mind 
 of Angela Gaydon as she entered the incense-tinged room. 
 For her the gaunt ascetic was not a man, but something 
 far higher, the earthly representative of the Master whom 
 she loved and worshipped with all the passion of a young 
 
A CELIBATE'S WIFE 21 
 
 emotional nature, an embodiment of the ideal she had set 
 herself of unworldliness and self-sacrifice. She had trembled 
 as he took her hand, awed and honoured as if she were 
 having audience with an angel. She had never spoken to 
 him before, but in the church she had seen him standing 
 high above the entranced congregation, his face illuminated 
 by the pulpit-hghts, and his eyes filled with the spiritual 
 exaltation which always came to him as he preached; and 
 she felt now as if she had been brought nearer God by the 
 touch of his hand. When he spoke, it seemed to her a mark 
 almost of condescension that he should speak like a friend. 
 
 " I have seen you at church with your aunts, I believe," 
 he said. "I am very pleased that you have accepted the 
 invitation I gave there and come to see me. There are 
 so many things that one cannot say in a public discourse, 
 special words of help for one soul that another may not need 
 or may not understand. Each individual soul has its own 
 difficulties and hopes, and when I speak to one, I do not speak 
 to another always. When the preacher addresses those who 
 still stand at the parting of the ways, still asking themselves 
 whether they shall give up their wills to Christ, his words are 
 almost lost for those who have long ago made the decision, 
 and are only asking how best they can serve Him." 
 
 He had been lighting the candles — for the sunset glow 
 had died away, and he talked as he did so — to put her at 
 her ease. Now he seated himself in a carved chair opposite 
 the easy one he had given her, and waited for her to answer. 
 
 Her face had flushed a little, and her eyes brightened 
 with the devotional excitement of speaking to such a man 
 in such a room. It was the feeling of a girl at her first com- 
 munion. But she showed no ordinary shyness or nervous- 
 ness. Only her breath came quicker than usual, and made 
 her pause between her words, as she answered him — 
 
 "All your addresses have been very helpful to me, and 
 I have been very thankful for them. It was hearing you in 
 the pulpit which made me think I might ask your advice on a 
 subject which has been in my mind for many months now." 
 
 " I shall be most happy to help you if I can." 
 
 She thanked him with an inclination of her head. 
 
22 A CELIBATE'S WIFE 
 
 " Perhaps you will tell me that my thoughts and wishes are 
 wrong," she went on, rather anxiously, "and are due to my 
 training ; but to me they seem the only thing that can be right." 
 
 " Your training ? " he interrupted questioningly. 
 
 "I was educated at a convent-school on the Continent, 
 which I left two years ago, when I was seventeen." 
 
 " Your parents belonged to the Church of Rome, then ? " 
 
 " Oh no ! It is perhaps the thought of them which has 
 prevented me changing my faith. The school at Thildonck 
 was chosen for me only because of its educational advan- 
 tages. There are many Protestant English girls there, and 
 no attempt is made to proselytise them. My greatest friend 
 there, however, happened to be French and a Roman Catholic. 
 I went to stay with her when we left school together. I 
 am an orphan, and my aunts at Windlehurst approved of 
 an arrangement that was pleasant to us both. I hope you 
 do not mind Hstening to these details," she broke off; "it 
 helps me to explain a desire I have which may possibly 
 shock you. I lived with my friend at her home in Auvergne 
 until a few weeks ago, when she took the veil, and I came 
 to Windlehurst to live with my aunts." 
 
 He nodded as she paused, and there was silence for a few 
 moments, the girl twisting her clasped hands together nervously. 
 
 " If I were a Roman Catholic, I should be tempted to take 
 the veil also. Canon Presyllett," she said abruptly, making 
 him turn his face away as she looked up; for his eyes had 
 been fixed on her face, tender and glowing with feeling. 
 
 " I can quite understand and sympathise with your desire," 
 he said in his well-modulated voice. " But you have no temp- 
 tation to enter the Roman Church, I hope, Miss Gaydon ? " 
 
 " No ; the memory of my mother alone would prevent that, 
 I think. But the parting from my friend has made me feel 
 that the English Church has something wanting. Cecile can 
 enter the sacred seclusion of the convent. I am forced out 
 into the thoughtless world." 
 
 " But in the thoughtless world you can find work to do for 
 God," he said gently. "You can devote your life to Him 
 without taking any vow." 
 
 " Yes, but it is so hard," she said piteously. " I want to 
 
A CELIBATE'S WIFE 9$ 
 
 remain in the world, there are so many poor and suffering 
 and ignorant to help. There seems to me a certain selfishness 
 in leaving them for the convent. I was not complaining that 
 I have to work in the world, at least I did not mean to. It 
 is only that I have no way of being in the world and showing 
 people that I am not of it. The English Church offers me 
 no badge or vow which those around me would recognise 
 as really binding me. I am afraid that it will be hard for 
 you to understand me. I do not want to parade the fact 
 that I have given myself wholly to Jesus. But it would be so 
 much more easy for me to keep my thoughts always on Him 
 if I were not distracted by the persistence with which my 
 friends and relatives take it for granted that I have the same 
 motives and desires as themselves." 
 
 " For instance ? " he said gently ; and she clasped and un- 
 clasped her slender fingers with a painful effort at expression. 
 
 " In matters of dress. My aunts know what life I have 
 chosen, but they are always saying, * You must not dress so 
 quietly; you make yourself a guy,' as though I were not 
 striving to trample earthly vanity under foot. Then above 
 everything, the idea they have that I shall marry is so dis- 
 tracting to my deepest thoughts. It is impossible for them 
 to imagine a woman having any aim but marriage. I shall 
 never marry, and I have said so plainly, but they will not 
 understand. Cecile takes a vow, and nobody troubles her. 
 If there were only a vow I could take which would persuade 
 the world that I never meant to marry. That alone would 
 solve all my difficulty, I think; for with the world around 
 me, everything seems to turn on marriage. ' If you look such 
 a guy, nobody will marry you,' they say ; and cannot under- 
 stand that the idea of adorning myself for such a purpose 
 is degrading and horrible to me. They speak of marriage 
 almost as if it were a duty, as if I am committing a crime 
 in abandoning all thought of it. The attitude of my aunts 
 and their friends is a constant distraction to me. Sometimes 
 I wonder even whether I shall not come insensibly to think 
 like them, to accept their standards, through having them 
 thrust always before me ; and the thought is terrible." 
 
 If she had spoken like this to Gabriel Lyne, he would have 
 
24 A CELIBATE'S WIFE 
 
 told Miss Gaydon that she was a prig, and that the ideas of 
 those around her were most probably truer and better than 
 her own, as she was likely to find out for herself when she was 
 a few years older ; but Canon Presyllett was very sympathetic. 
 
 " I understand your wish entirely," he said, leaning back in 
 his carved chair and clasping his gaunt hands before him, 
 " but I am afraid that I can offer you nothing but my sympathy. 
 I am met myself by exactly the same difficulty, and I have looked 
 in vain for any earthly means of meeting it. I believe firmly 
 in the necessity for the clergy to be celibate, but because the 
 Church does not bind me to cehbacy, I am treated on all sides 
 as a man who may marry at any time ; and the fact is a serious 
 hindrance to me in my parish work." 
 
 " I have heard Aunt Iphigenia speak of it," she said. " I 
 could not tell her to-day that I was coming here, because of 
 the light in which she insists upon looking at both of us." 
 
 " I am glad that you understand my difficulty. It is the 
 same as your own, is it not ? " 
 
 She answered with a smile in her beautiful eyes. In a way, 
 this saint-like man had lifted her to his own level. He could 
 not help her in her particular trouble, but he had given 
 her almost greater happiness in telling her that he shared it. 
 What wonderful condescension it seemed on his part when he 
 took her hand and suggested that they should help each other. 
 
 " I am afraid that I can give little help," she said, flushed 
 with the honour he paid her, but conscious of the great 
 difference between this man's spiritual attainments and her 
 own. " I came to you thinking that you might know of some 
 sisterhood in the English Church which I might join." 
 
 " I am afraid that there is none whose vows would be taken 
 by your friends as absolutely binding like those of the Romish 
 Church." 
 
 More or less deliberately he dismissed summarily from his 
 mind the idea of her entering one of the Protestant sister- 
 hoods, with the existence of which she was probably unac- 
 quainted, on account of a subtle interest he was beginning 
 to feel in his fair questioner. To a man as isolated as the 
 ascetic Canon, the smallest gleam of human sympathy is 
 of great value; and the arrival of this unexpected woman 
 
A CELIBATE'S WIFE 25 
 
 just at the moment when his old struggle for celibacy had 
 been revived by the Squire's words, was very welcome to him. 
 Her attitude was different from his own in that marriage 
 apparently offered for her no physical temptation, but her 
 difficulty enabled her to sympathise with one side of his in a 
 manner that would be impossible to anybody else in the parish, 
 if not in the diocese, and he looked forward to her help in 
 considering the question, as a relief from a perfectly lonely 
 struggle. If he had realised how much of his interest in Miss 
 Gaydon was due to the fact that she was a beautiful girl, he 
 would have struggled against it ; but this time the beast had 
 donned the feathers successfully, and he put away the idea of 
 her joining a sisterhood which would remove her from Windle- 
 hurst and from his influence, with no suspicion that the angel 
 had remained silent on the subject. 
 
 "We can help each other with our sympathy and our 
 prayers," he said. " Let us join in prayer now for guidance." 
 
 He knelt down by the martyred bishop's stool, and prayed 
 with his usual eloquence and fervour that God would show 
 them a way out of the difficulties which beset them. But the 
 prayer was a short one. The thoughts of the best of men 
 come and go without reverence at the bidding of the slightest 
 association of ideas. As he mentioned his difficulty, the 
 thought of the Squire waiting for his dinner had flashed into 
 his mind in the midst of his prayer ; already he had left himself 
 less than half-an-hour for the meal, and when he had risen 
 from his knees, he bid the awed and subdued girl "Good-bye" 
 rather hastily. 
 
 " You must come and see me to-morrow if possible. Miss 
 Gaydon," he said genially, " and in the meantime I will give 
 my best thought to the difficulty you experience in your 
 following of our Lord. Perhaps I shall be able to think of 
 some practical step which will be of assistance to you." 
 
 She gazed up at him with the eyes of a devout worshipper. 
 
 "You are very very kind," she said. "I shall certainly 
 
CHAPTER III 
 
 Angela Gaydon walked homeward in a state of spiritual 
 exaltation, meeting on her way many of the villagers coming 
 to church for the mission service, which would begin so 
 soon now. The summoning bells came sweetly through the 
 evening air, chiming in unison with her thoughts. The sun 
 had gone, and, like an army of lost spirits which had waited 
 for the night, an opal haze came creeping up mysteriously 
 from the fields by the river on her left. There was a crispness 
 in the early October air which made her blood flow more 
 quickly, and added to the firm elasticity of her step. She 
 felt fit for any noble enterprise, any feat of self-sacrificing 
 heroism. She longed for some great duty to present itself 
 for her performance. 
 
 It is always trying to an exalted nature like this when 
 an insignificant question of conscience suggests itself, and 
 Angela slackened her speed, and lost the pictures of angels 
 and saints which she had conjured out of the evening mist, 
 as the gables of Lilac Lodge, the Gaydons' home, showed 
 themselves over the trees, and reminded her that her maiden 
 aunts, with their unholy worship of the proprieties, would want 
 to know where she had been. 
 
 After long debating with herself she had paid her visit to 
 the Rectory in a moment of impulse, and remembered now 
 for the first time that it would probably have made her late 
 for dinner. Her aunts would be very cross, especially as 
 they wanted ta go to church; and Angela shrank a little 
 from the ordeal of meeting them. Not that she was afraid 
 of her aunts. Her natural fearlessness of disposition had been 
 increased by the knowledge that her own life and motives 
 were so different, so much higher than theirs. Angela Gaydon 
 made a point of fearing nobody but God. 
 
 a6 
 
A CELIBATE'S WIFE 27 
 
 But it is very distressing for an enthusiast, ready to lay 
 down her life for others, ready for any heroism, to have to 
 sit down and listen to worldly complaints and reproaches 
 over such a mundane subject as an over-done chop. The 
 good ladies might even insist on knowing the reason of 
 her lateness, the particular errand on which her search for 
 holiness had taken her, and subject her most devout im- 
 pulses to the standard of a worldly idea of propriety. She 
 knew quite well that they would declare themselves horrified 
 if she told them that she had been to the Rectory aloney 
 but that fact by itself would not have debarred her for a 
 moment from stating the fact bluntly. 
 
 There was a certain pleasure of martyrdom in suffering 
 for the higher ideals of conduct which she held, and since 
 her entrance into the quiet prim household she had shocked 
 her aunts daily with merciless heroism. 
 
 The question of conscience was whether she should tell 
 them that she was to visit the Rector again on the morrow. 
 She hated concealing anything, especially to-night, when she 
 was feeling, after her happy experience at the Rectory, specially 
 braced for martyrdom. But there was the chance that if 
 she mentioned the appointment, her visit might be forbidden, 
 or one of her aunts might insist on being present at the 
 interview. And if she said nothing about it, then it might 
 look as if she were ashamed of what she was doing, or 
 afraid of the truth. It is indeed trying when an insignifi- 
 cant point of duty like this suggests itself to an enthusiastic 
 soul thirsting for great duties and great sacrifices. 
 
 Lilac Lodge was a plain, square house, with the doorway 
 in the middle and a bow-window on each side of it. The 
 Misses Gaydon would never have chosen a house which 
 had not both sides exactly alike. It would have offended 
 their idea of neatness, an idea which evidenced itself in 
 the garden, with its straight path to the door dividing the 
 lawn into even halves, every flower-bed and shrub on one 
 side being matched by a similar flower-bed and shrub 
 on the other. In the house itself everything went in pairs. 
 There was not an ornament on any mantelshelf in the place 
 which was not matched by another at a mathematically exact 
 
28 A CELIBATE'S WIFE 
 
 distance from the other end. One would be Miss Prudence's, 
 the other Miss Iphigenia's, and in case of breakage there 
 was grief on one side and self-congratulation on the other. 
 The sisters themselves formed almost as perfect a pair as 
 the flower-beds and the ornaments. Born on the same day, 
 their constant opposition to each other, which had lasted 
 nearly forty years, had commenced with a struggle for priority 
 of birth, and Miss Prudence had come off victor by twenty 
 minutes. Iphigenia had been compensated by Providence 
 with a couple of inches more height than her sister, a fact 
 against which Miss Prudence never ceased to revolt, both 
 on the score of fairness and neatness. Perhaps it was this 
 revolt which had made her face a little sharper and more 
 ill-tempered than that of her sister. Perhaps the differ- 
 ence lay in their histories. Iphigenia had loved and been 
 loved fifteen years before, but her lover had been killed in 
 an accident the day after he had declared himself. Short 
 as the old maid's love experience had been, it had left in 
 her face a touch of tenderness and sweetness which her 
 sister's did not know. Not but that Prudence claimed to 
 have had a suitor too, at a later time, but she was even 
 more unfortunate than her sister. Her suitor had died a 
 day before his declaration. At least so Prudence always 
 affirmed, and Iphigenia never had the heart to ask her why 
 he should have declared himself then, any more than during 
 the ten years, previous to his death, that he had known the 
 sisters and paid them equal attention. She had her memory ; 
 it was fair that Prudence should lay full claim to the other. 
 They had plenty of other things to squabble and contend 
 about, including everything in the house that could not be 
 paired, and in which they had a joint interest. 
 
 Their niece was one, the hall-stand was another. 
 
 The hall-stand was an heirloom, or of course it would 
 not have been there, for it had only a single row of hat-pegs 
 running down the centre. They had brought it with them 
 when they started housekeeping together on the death of 
 their mother, and had struggled over it ever since. It was a 
 custom with them to hang their hats and cloaks there when 
 they came in from a walk, carrying them upstairs, to be put 
 
A CELIBATE'S WIFE 29 
 
 away with mathematical neatness afterwards when they were 
 rested; and it was one of the objects of life with each of 
 them to secure as often as possible the highest peg. There is 
 nothing more pathetic than to see the straits to which a woman 
 who need not work and must not bear children is often put in 
 order to infuse a little zest into existence. 
 
 It was a proof of the deep interest which the old maids 
 took in the struggle for the hat-peg, that it was not for- 
 gotten when Angela arrived, and presented another field for 
 the display of constant finesse and adroitness. If two nieces 
 had come to the prim house together, it is possible that 
 the sisters would have agreed on an amicable division; 
 Prudence would have taken one under her wing, and Iphi- 
 genia the other, to watch over, care for, and adjust to the 
 pattern of the house. But as Angela had no pair, — and 
 with her mingled piety and beauty, which so seldom go 
 together, it would have been difficult to find one, — the old 
 maids had begun by agreeing that they could not possibly 
 receive her, and, now that her advent had become unavoid- 
 able, were vying with one another in gaining her love 
 and correcting her faults. Luckily for the girl, the primary 
 object with each was to gain her partisanship; and to the 
 rivalry for her affection the beautiful girl owed much of 
 her happiness in the house, and all her Uberty. Miss 
 Prudence and Miss Iphigenia joined hands in deploring the 
 "strangeness" which made her for ever with the poor and 
 sick of the village, but each one knew that if she tried to 
 restrain her actions it would only give an opportunity to the 
 other to take her part and earn a larger share of the girl's 
 good-will. The consequence was, that in the most prim and 
 orderly household in Windlehurst the wayward and perfectly 
 unconventional girl found herself comparatively unfettered, 
 and free to foster that love of her own way which was so 
 closely connected with her love of Jesus. 
 
 As she walked up the straight gravel path that led to the 
 house, Angela had decided to tell the whole truth, but to 
 insist against all opposition on going alone to the Rectory 
 next day. She hated the appearance of anything under- 
 handed. It was easier for her to be defiant. 
 
30 A CELIBATE'S WIFE 
 
 She braced herself up for the meeting with two rather 
 cross ladies, and was pleasantly surprised to find that they 
 had for once dined without her, and that her Aunt Prudence 
 had already started for the church, missing her no doubt 
 by taking a short cut through the fields. 
 
 Miss Iphigenia was quite apologetic about it. In spite 
 of the two inches advantage over her sister, she was a very 
 little woman, with hair that was beginning to grow grey, 
 round bright brown eyes like a bird's, and a sharp little 
 nose like a beak. There was something bird-like, too, in 
 the movement of her head when she spoke, jerking it round 
 quickly to face the person she spoke to, and then posing it on 
 one side to listen for the answer. Prudence had exactly the 
 same characteristics, but her beak was sharper, and there was 
 more grey in her hair. Squire Gateacre always spoke of 
 them to his wife as the two Tomtits. 
 
 " Prudence insisted on having dinner," twittered Miss 
 Iphigenia. "You see, dear, it is a cold dinner to-day. It 
 is Susannah's evening out, you know, and we never have 
 anything hot, and Prue was so anxious not to be late to 
 church. I hope you will not mind. I wanted to wait and 
 take mine with you, but Prue is so obstinate, and was actually 
 going without anything to eat at all if I had not given in. 
 Of course she would have fainted before the service was 
 over, and then she would have put it all down to me." 
 
 She was helping the girl off with her cloak as she spoke, 
 standing on tiptoe to do so, and seemed to feel no curiosity 
 about her lateness. 
 
 Over the meal she treated her confidentially to more 
 complaints of her sister. Prudence had asserted her right 
 to go to church instead of her, and it was right that she 
 should gain some compensation by getting Angela to side 
 with her in thinking Prudence unjust. The girl listened with 
 a devout serenity and want of interest which would have 
 discouraged anybody less fond of talking, or less injured than 
 Miss Iphigenia felt herself to be. 
 
 It seemed that once a fortnight Susannah, the one maid, 
 had an evening's holiday, and that a law of the household, 
 which was the same thing as a law of the Medes and Persians, 
 
A CELIBATE'S WIFE 31 
 
 forbade the sisters to leave the house unprotected. Twenty 
 years before, a house in Windlehurst, temporarily left by its 
 occupants, had been ransacked by a gang of London thieves. 
 The Misses Gaydon took the duty of remaining on guard in 
 turn. Every duty and every honour was taken in turn in the 
 Gaydon household. Miss Iphigenia's complaint, spread over 
 the whole of Angela's dinner, was that although strictly it 
 was her sister's turn to leave the house, still Prudence had 
 enjoyed the liberty on the last occasion when it was of any 
 concern to either whether they went out or not, and that 
 she had therefore a moral right to enjoy the luxury of hearing 
 the Rector of Windlehurst's impassioned denunciations and 
 appeals. The special services with which the Canon was 
 attempting to stir up the religious feeling of the parish had 
 attracted the whole village, and every evening so far had 
 seen the two old maids and their niece at church. In a 
 quiet and monotonous existence which knew nothing more 
 exciting than the fight for the hall-stand and their niece's 
 favour, the emotional services had come as an event in the 
 village which atoned for the lack of a theatre or a concert- 
 room. Miss Iphigenia was missing something, therefore, 
 and she grumbled energetically, undeterred by the scant 
 attention of her niece, whose mind was filled with higher 
 thoughts, which made this wretched petty squabbling for pre- 
 cedence jar upon her, as a tiresome and worldly distraction. 
 
 It was not till the opportunity of sacrifice suggested itself 
 that she really gave her mind to what the little woman was 
 saying. She had been eating her cold meal hastily with 
 the idea of reaching church herself in time for the sermon, 
 and paused suddenly. 
 
 " Cannot I mind the house, Aunt Iphigenia ? " she asked 
 with the calm serenity which always puzzled and half- 
 frightened the two excitable little Tomtits. 
 
 " Oh no, dear. You are so fond of the services, and you 
 are so young to be left in the house alone, if anything should 
 happen. Not that anything is likely to happen." 
 
 The question of leaving Angela in charge of the house 
 had been argued out between the sisters for some hours, 
 and they had agreed that she could not be asked to forego 
 
32 A CELIBATE'S WIFE 
 
 the service. Unconsciously to themselves, they agreed on 
 the point the more readily through a feeling that the question 
 at issue was not how they should both go to church, but 
 which one should triumph in her determination to go alone. 
 
 Now that Prudence had conquered, there would be some 
 triumph for Miss Iphigenia if she could go after all, and, 
 when her sister returned with an enthusiastic account of 
 the sermon, surprise her by announcing that she also had 
 heard it. 
 
 "I really cannot think of leaving you here alone," she 
 said quite forcibly as the temptation occurred to her, and 
 she made a laudable struggle before giving in. The love 
 of martyrdom is inherent in the feminine breast, and there 
 are many women who can never please themselves without 
 assuring both themselves and those around them that they 
 do so under protest. 
 
 Angela was keenly conscious of the subterfuge, and she 
 listened with a little disdain, and insisted on the self-pleasing 
 with as few words as possible. She was making a real sacri- 
 fice, for she had looked forward to hearing the saint in the 
 pulpit. How could she help feeling a little superior to the 
 woman who was only pretending ? 
 
 Aunt Iphigenia chirruped protestingly all the way into 
 her hat and cloak and all way down the gravel path to 
 the darkening road, and Angela was glad to be left alone 
 to think again of the happy experience that had been 
 hers in the afternoon. She could afford to lose the words 
 that Canon Presyllett would address to the whole congre- 
 gation, when she had been honoured by hearing words from 
 him addressed to herself alone. 
 
 With a happy thought she went up to her room to pray 
 for him, as he had asked her, and remained there for a 
 long while on her knees in the dark. She felt that she 
 was very near to God to-night, and when a thought of the 
 world obtruded itself she put it away quickly. Once, — it 
 was when her hand touched her handkerchief, — there rose 
 before her memory the face of a handsome, masterly-looking 
 man, with a pleasant smile in his eyes, and a musical voice. 
 His air of frank courtesy, as he restored the lost handker- 
 
A CELIBATE'S WIFE 33 
 
 chief to her in the Rectory garden, had been pleasing to 
 her, but it was a pleasure that was of the world, and she 
 put away the memory of it quickly, as she lighted her lamp 
 in order to pore over the pages of Thomas k Kempis. 
 
 If it had occurred to her that her aunts would be pleased, 
 when they got in, to find the dinner cleared away and supper 
 set, in the absence of Susannah, she would have tried to 
 satisfy them, for Angela never consciously allowed herself 
 to shirk a duty; but there was no connecting link between 
 the pages she was poring over and the dirty dishes below 
 to make her think of them. It is the weakness of all special 
 incentives to the performance of duty that they absorb the 
 energy which should be spent in detecting what our parti- 
 cular duties are. Angela was much too near God to-night 
 for her to think of pleasing anybody but Him, and His 
 wishes with regard to such mundane matters as meals did 
 not occur to her, as they would have done if she had centred 
 her mind on Miss Iphigenia. 
 
 That little lady, released from duty, had hastened in the 
 direction of the church, avoiding the path through the fields, 
 with that regard for her personal safety which in an unmarried 
 woman generally increases as the charms to which her danger 
 is due decay. The keenness of the air which affects one so 
 strongly when it first advances on the heels of summer with 
 a nearness that enables one to feel its contrast to the languor 
 that is past, braced her as it had done Angela, but in a 
 different manner. It made her feel a keener zest for the 
 triumph she had obtained over her sister. The mystery of 
 the road with its gossamer veil of mist filled her with an 
 unfed sense of anticipation. 
 
 "What if something should come of my walk to-night?" 
 she said to herself, and did not know what to expect. 
 
 A man came striding out from the gloom with long steps, 
 and she shrank away from him as he passed and she recog- 
 nised his tall athletic figure. His presence frightened her 
 a little, for what may one not expect from a man who does 
 not go to church, who fears no God, and does not wear 
 a tall hat on Sundays ? 
 
 The poor little Tomtit perked her head round when he 
 
 C 
 
34 A CELIBATE'S WIFE 
 
 was gone, and breathed more freely because Gabriel Lyne, the 
 Infidel of Windlehurst, had passed without taking the slightest 
 notice of her. 
 
 She would have been very startled if she could have known 
 what was in the young man's thoughts. That he had come 
 out for a sharp walk because he was restless and could not 
 work at the book he was writing. That he was restless be- 
 cause, for some inscrutable reason, he could not dismiss from 
 his mind the beautiful devout face of a nun-like girl whose 
 honest grey eyes had met his for one moment pleasantly. The 
 book he was writing was a vigorous onslaught on some of the 
 Christian dogmas, and the thought of the girl he had met in 
 the Rectory garden wove itself in with his arguments, and 
 made him dissatisfied with what he had done. How gentle 
 he had been, how tolerant of the intolerable doctrines which 
 had so evidently laid their pernicious hold on his Nun, making 
 her afraid to enjoy the sunshine and beauty round her or to 
 wear a dress that suited her. The pity of it justified his book, 
 but the thought of her did not help him to write it. It sent 
 him dreaming instead. 
 
 He would have looked at IMiss Iphigenia if he had guessed 
 that the Nun was her niece. He might even have made some 
 excuse for speaking to her, and have frightened the little 
 lady out of her wits. But, as it was, the little Tomtit went 
 on safely, giving her thoughts again to the unknown something 
 which she felt was to happen and bring some change into her 
 uneventful life. 
 
 Was it that she would be "converted" at the service ? Miss 
 Iphigenia shrank from the thought, as of something linking 
 her ydth. wicked, and, what was worse, with poor people. Surely 
 she was too respectable to be converted. She had not even 
 imagined that it was possible to her, when she went to church 
 regularly every Sunday, and behaved herself as an ordinary 
 orthodox lady should, until Angela had come into the house 
 with her religiousness which was so different from her own, 
 making her wonder whether she was quite safe in taking her 
 seat in heaven for granted. It was rather strange that Angela's 
 advent and the misgivings it caused had been followed almost 
 immediately by a religious revival in the village — a revival due 
 
A CELIBATE'S WIFE 35 
 
 to the special services which the Rector was holding. Every- 
 body was talking of " conversion," and daily there ran round 
 the village a rumour of some fresh victim to the Canon's 
 eloquence, who had sought audience with him, become a com- 
 municant or taken up some branch of church work in conse- 
 quence of his impassioned appeals to his flock to live new 
 lives. Young Gateacre, the Squire's brother and one of the 
 wildest young men in the neighbourhood, had sought admission 
 to the choir. Miss Denby, the dressmaker, who was suspected 
 of having had a past, had taken up Sunday-school teaching ; 
 and even the young man who delivered the milk at the Lodge 
 had stopped to talk to Susannah about her soul while he filled 
 her basin. Susannah said that he certainly gave better measure. 
 And so the wonder of the Canon's revival preaching had spread 
 and filled the church every evening with interested listeners, 
 each half hoping and half afraid that some new mysterious 
 sensation would come over them and land them in the ranks 
 of the converted. 
 
CHAPTER IV 
 
 The church was crammed when Iphigenia reached it, and she 
 was provided with a chair near the bottom of the central 
 aisle. She wondered whether her sister had arrived early 
 enough to secure their own pew, which was just under the 
 pulpit, and after mechanically hiding her bowed face for five 
 seconds in her handkerchief, she stood up with the rest of 
 the congregation, who were singing the last hymn before the 
 sermon, and craned her neck in an attempt to catch sight of 
 her. She was too short to do so, and would not have thought 
 of acting so indecorously if she had been in her own pew. The 
 strangeness of her position on a chair in the aisle surrounded 
 by a crowd of strangers — for people had come over from Barn- 
 wood and the villages round for the excitement of Canon 
 Presyllett's preaching — prevented her feeling that she was in 
 church at all, and, while it lessened in her the mechanical 
 reverence of habit, left her more prepared for the reception of 
 a new emotion. 
 
 Somebody lent her a hymn-book just as the last verse 
 was being sung. It was Newman's " Lead Thou me on," 
 and, with unconscious respect for its sweetness, the people 
 around her had left it alone, and listened reverently to the 
 performance of the choir, of whose white surplices Miss Iphi- 
 genia could just gain a ghmpse up the crowded aisle. It was 
 a well-trained choir for a village church, and the sweet 
 sadness of the hymn affected her as it soared with pathetic 
 cadence to the carved roof and died away with its last 
 cry of hopeful anticipation among the sculptured angels 
 dark with age. 
 
 The light died with it, for, as the hymn ended, a turn 
 of the clerk's hand in the vestry had sent every gas-jet 
 
 36 
 
A CELIBATE'S WIFE 37 
 
 down to a flickering point, and every eye in the building 
 turned to the one glow of light where the white-robed figure 
 of the Rector stood illuminated by the candles in the pulpit 
 high above the heads of the hushed crowd. 
 
 It was more silent than if there had been less sound. For 
 the suppressed rustle of an occasional hymn-book or dress 
 made one feel how many individual silences made up the 
 hush that had come over the expectant congregation. 
 
 Canon Presyllett never looked so impressive as in the 
 pulpit, his ungainliness of figure concealed by his surplice, 
 his thin face purified by the glow of spiritual enthusiasm 
 which showed through it. 
 
 Miss Iphigenia sighed as she gazed at him, and hoped 
 that Prudence was not in the pew just under the pulpit, 
 where he would see her, and perhaps think that she herself 
 had stayed away through carelessness. It was impossible 
 for him to see her own face as she sat at the bottom of the 
 dark church, and she determined that after the service she 
 would try and find some opportunity of letting him know 
 that she had been present. 
 
 What a beautiful preacher he was. His words without 
 apparent effort reached to the farthest end of the church, 
 and still sounded low and persuasive, as if he were address- 
 ing one person only. Miss Iphigenia, like the majority of 
 persons who listen to sermons, busied her mind wondering 
 who that person could be. As a matter of fact, in the 
 beginning of the address the preacher himself was think- 
 ing of the Squire. For his subject was our duty to others, 
 and he was declaring with impassioned words that the right- 
 ness or wrongness of an action cannot be determined until we 
 have thought of its effect upon those around us. 
 
 " However great a right we may seem to have to take any 
 course of action," he said, " there is no right at all, in God's 
 eyes, unless it is the course which tends to the spiritual 
 welfare of our fellows." 
 
 With unusual hardihood for a nineteenth-century Christian, 
 he had chosen as his text the injunction, which they tacitly 
 agree to ignore, about turning the other cheek to the smiter ; 
 and he contrasted with persuasive eloquence the puny triumph 
 
38 A CELIBATE'S WIFE 
 
 which comes to a man when he feels that he has avenged 
 himself, and the real glorious triumph of one who has scorned 
 his natural right to self-defence, and influenced for good a 
 human soul by doing so. 
 
 As he went on Iphigenia began to think of Prudence, 
 and wondered whether she felt quite comfortable under the 
 address. For Prudence was always thinking of her rights, 
 and never gave in. 
 
 The little woman began to feel a keen enjoyment in the 
 thought of how Prudence must be taking the indictment to 
 herself, and how her conscience must be pricking her; quite 
 unconscious of the fact that Prudence was at that moment 
 thinking how admirably it applied to Iphigenia herself, and 
 regretting that her sister was not there to hear it. 
 
 " Oh ! my dear brothers and sisters," said the glorified 
 Canon, stretching out his surpliced arms in a tender appeal, 
 " if for one moment you could look at your struggle for 
 self-assertion with the eye of God, and see how insignificant 
 and paltry are its greatest conquests. * An eye for an eye, 
 and a tooth for a tooth,' is your cry, and you forget that 
 while you are struggling for it, you are losing the opportunity 
 of ministering to the soul of your antagonist. What is it 
 when you stand with the dead tooth and the dead eye in 
 your hand, victorious, if you know that in struggling for it 
 you have let the soul of your brother slip down into Hell? 
 You are quite fair, you say, and it is your right. That is 
 what the Roman soldiers said at the foot of the Cross. 
 They were only enjoying their legal right in sharing the 
 garments of Christ, and cast lots fairly, so that nobody 
 would suffer injustice. They were quite fair." He thrilled 
 out the word with an intonation which made everybody in 
 the church think fairness a crime. Then his voice sank 
 low again as he went on, with a sweep of the hand that 
 like a magnet drew a thousand eyes with it towards the 
 western window with its stained representation of the Cruci- 
 fixion dimly moonlit : " Behind them on the Cross hung 
 the Redeemer of mankind, suffering for their sins and ours, 
 offering the peace and bliss of Paradise even to the thief 
 at His side; but they could not spare time to regard or 
 
A CELIBATE'S WIFE 39 
 
 think of Him, lest they should lose their paltry right in a 
 few yards of cloth. It is the same to-day; Christ is 
 ever revealing Himself to us, but we have not time to 
 look or to let our fellows look, lest for one moment they 
 should forget what we call our rights. We shut our eyes to 
 the suffering of the Saviour, to join in our miserable squabbles 
 over objects even more paltry than a seamless coat." 
 
 Miss Iphigenia's eyes came down from the cross in the 
 window and wandered, in a search that was all desire and 
 no hope, for a ghmpse of her sister's face in the listening 
 crowd. She could not find it, of course, but she was very 
 anxious to see from Prudence's expression whether her con- 
 science was not disturbed by the remembrance of the old 
 lace which she had insisted on dividing into equal shares, 
 although it made it practically useless for both of them, and 
 Iphigenia herself had the prior claim to it, through having 
 discovered it put away in the old press and forgotten. 
 
 Even if she had found the face she sought, its expres- 
 sion would have been unreadable in the semi-darkness, atid 
 Iphigenia turned her eyes once more on the preacher. 
 
 She started and flushed guiltily as she did so, for the 
 Canon seemed to be looking directly at her, and his gaunt 
 finger pointed right over the congregation at her, as he went 
 on, with a quick change to his conversational persuasiveness. 
 
 " I know what you are thinking, what you are saying to 
 yourselves — that if others would forego their rights, you would 
 be ready to do so. But it is for you to set the example. 
 You must not think of v>hat others are doing. Your only 
 duty is to obey God's command yourself." 
 
 Iphigenia sat with her round little brown eyes riveted on 
 his face like those of a startled bird. He had read her 
 thoughts, and was telling her that it was her own conscience 
 she must think of, and not Prudence's ; that she must suppress 
 herself, and struggle no more for her rights ; that she ought 
 to have given the lace up to Prudence to make a fichu, instead 
 of expecting it to be given to herself. 
 
 The perfectly accidental direction of the clergyman's finger 
 towards her had brought to her a sudden new realisation of 
 her own imperfections. 
 
40 A CELIBATE'S WIFE 
 
 For the first time in the course of the sermon, if not in 
 the course of her life, she took to herself a denunciation from 
 the pulpit, and sat no longer with the one duty of deciding 
 for which among her friends and acquaintances each denun- 
 ciation was intended. She was no longer a juryman, but the 
 prisoner in the dock. 
 
 What was it that was required of her? She listened 
 eagerly, breathing more freely when the preacher changed 
 the direction of his glance, but unable to let her thoughts 
 go back to the question of what Prudence ought to do. 
 
 The Canon was laying down Unes of conduct suggested by 
 the text he had chosen, making now and then a simple home- 
 thrust, but too often translating his ideas into that conven- 
 tional Hebrew form to which she was accustomed, and which 
 made them as beautiful and unintelligible to her as a Latin 
 chant sung in a Roman Catholic cathedral. 
 
 But it did not matter to Iphigenia very much now what 
 the Canon said she ought to do, for she saw it so plainly, and 
 it meant the changing of her whole line of conduct. 
 
 When Prudence and she were opposed — and they were 
 opposed fifty times a day — she must no longer strive to show 
 her sister that she was wrong and she herself right. She 
 must simply give in, even to injustice. The first thing that 
 Prudence would do when she got home would be to declare 
 that Angela ought not to have been left in the house alone. 
 Was she to lock up in her bosom all the arguments with 
 which she had justified to herself her visit to church, and 
 admit tamely that Prudence was right? Surely she could 
 not do it. 
 
 And still it was a duty. She did not look for an incentive 
 to its performance, any more than she would have asked a 
 reason for washing her hands if she had suddenly realised that 
 they were dirty. She was as accustomed to doing her duty 
 as she was to being clean, and to see an imperfection in her 
 conduct was tantamount to wishing to alter it. 
 
 It was the effort, the cost, which terrified her. 
 
 She tried to think it out practically; to imagine herself 
 acting as the inspired preacher said that she ought to act. 
 She pictured herself meeting Prudence on her return home, 
 
A CELIBATE'S WIFE 41 
 
 listening to her reproaches with silent resignation and sweet- 
 ness. How astonished her sister would be, how perfectly at 
 a loss. 
 
 A gleam of hope flashed into the old maid's heart as she 
 began to realise that it would place her on a higher pedestal 
 than her sister, and make all Prudence's triumphs worthless. 
 What pleasure could Prudence gain from the constant use of 
 the top hat-peg, if she gave it up to her freely ? As the Canon 
 had said, it was a petty and unsatisfying conquest after all, 
 and not to be compared for a moment to the pleasure of 
 knowing that she herself was doing God's will and acting from 
 a higher motive than her sister. 
 
 The picture she had conjured up became alluring. She, 
 serene and peaceful with the knowledge that she was doing 
 right; Prudence, ever striving for httle triumphs which she 
 could not enjoy. It would cost her very Httle : she would have 
 to perform a few more duties, and bear a few more expenses 
 for breakages and other things about which they usually dis- 
 puted ; but Iphigenia knew that Prudence was too just and 
 fair, although she was on a so much lower spiritual platform, 
 to let her bear much more than her share of either duty or 
 expense. 
 
 She had not the slightest realisation, of course, of the fact 
 that she was thinking the matter out in this practical manner, 
 and deciding from which course of action she could get the 
 greater happiness. The mind of man conceals its springs of 
 action from itself very carefully — with good reason. The little 
 old maid fondly imagined that she was comparing a practical 
 self-pleasing course of action with a perfectly transcendental 
 one from which she could look for no earthly satisfaction ex- 
 cept in the knowledge that she was pleasing God. She thought 
 that her choice of its own voHtion was making the decision 
 between her own will and that of Jesus, and at the end of the 
 service she remained long on her knees, in an emotional 
 abandonment which prevented her wondering, as she had done 
 on entering, whether the floor was dusty and would injure her 
 dress, assuring her Saviour that from that moment she gave 
 herself to Him wholly, and praying for strength to fight against 
 her own worldly inclinations. 
 
42 A CELIBATE'S WIFE 
 
 She would have remained longer — for the intoxication of 
 religious emotion is as pleasant as the intoxication of love or 
 wine — but her chair was in the aisle, and people were already 
 crowding out past her and finding the kneeling figure in the 
 way. 
 
 She rose with a dazed, unreal, happy feeling, and, with the 
 idea of seeking Prudence at once and telling her what had 
 happened, tried to stem the current coming down the aisle. 
 The current was too strong, however, and a thought had 
 occurred to her that she would show the change in her heart 
 by action rather than speech. She would surprise Prudence 
 by her resignation before she mentioned the cause, and, with 
 this happy idea in her mind, the little woman struggled slowly 
 out of church and hastened home. 
 
 It was possible that Prudence had escaped from the church 
 first by the other door, but it was not probable. She usually 
 waited until the aisle had ceased to be crowded, and Iphigenia 
 hoped that she would be home first, to make the initial sacrifice 
 which had suggested itself to her mind, and surprise her sister 
 by leaving the top peg of the hall-stand free for her hat and 
 cloak when she came home. She would also get supper 
 ready if Susannah had not arrived — a task which, in the 
 old time before her "conversion," would certainly have led to 
 a dispute. 
 
 The mist had cleared away during the service, and the 
 road and fields were bathed in moonlight. The little old 
 maid felt in a vague way that it was an allegory of the 
 change that had taken place in herself. All the petty plotting 
 and finesse which had cobwebbed her mind and character 
 in the past were sv/ept away, and her every duty was clear 
 and distinct now. She had seen God, as the river down 
 in the meadows saw the moon and found itself, without 
 effort, no longer something dark and meaningless, but a 
 clear fine of silver placidity. 
 
 She felt thrilled with a noble enthusiasm as she walked 
 up the gravel path and opened the door, and a happy smile 
 was on her lip as she approached the hall-stand. 
 
 But it died away suddenly and a look of perplexity took 
 its place. It seemed that Prudence had reached home before 
 
A CELIBATE'S WIFE 43 
 
 her after all, for her hat and cloak were hanging in the 
 hall, and, wonder of wonders, they were on the second peg. 
 For the first time in her knowledge of her sister. Prudence 
 had come in first and left the top peg free. It was not 
 unfortunate that such an accident had happened, for it 
 left her free to show the change which had come over her. 
 With the smile once more on her lip, Iphigenia moved her 
 sister's things to the top peg, and hung her own on the 
 lower one. 
 
 Then she hastened into the kitchen to carry in the supper 
 things before Susannah arrived, and once more her face 
 fell. The supper had been laid. Of course Angela had 
 thought of it, she said to herself; and she had to pause 
 and think of some other means of satisfying her new lust 
 for sacrifice. 
 
 It was not difficult; the house was full of battle-fields. 
 War had waged for a fortnight over an old chest that, for 
 some inscrutable feminine reason, was supposed to need re- 
 arrangement. The contents belonged principally to Prudence, 
 but Prudence had produced her diary to show that she had 
 performed the duty on the last occasion when it was sup- 
 posed to be necessary, twelve months before ; and as it was 
 a duty which could not be handed over to Susannah, a 
 deadlock had ensued, and the Tomtits, with their usual habit, 
 had argued for days over a task that would employ them 
 about ten minutes. 
 
 Iphigenia glanced at her watch. She would just have 
 time to arrange the chest before supper, and she went up- 
 stairs silently. Seeing a light in Angela's room as she passed, 
 she called in to thank her for laying the supper. She was 
 going to be very sweet to everybody now. Her niece was 
 still poring over Thomas k Kempis, and looked up with 
 far-away gaze. 
 
 *' Oh ! I think that Aunt Prudence laid supper," she said, 
 with a touch of impatience in her voice at being brought 
 down from the consideration of the divine to such mundane 
 affairs. " She went into the dining-room, and began moving 
 the things, as soon as I unlocked the door for her, ten 
 minutes ago." 
 
44 A CELIBATE'S WIFE 
 
 Iphigenia went away wondering. Was Prudence trying 
 to make a martyr of herself to render her own offence in 
 leaving the house to Angela seem worse? She lighted a 
 candle and went on to the lumber-room, stepping silently 
 past her sister's room, so that she might have some work of 
 abnegation to show her before they met. 
 
 She pushed open the door of the lumber-room gently, 
 and then started back, almost dropping her candle. For, 
 kneeling on the floor, with a candle beside her, on the bare 
 boards, was Prudence herself, rearranging the disputed chest. 
 
 She did not appear to notice Iphigenia's entrance, and 
 the seeker after sacrifice stood with her little mouth agape, 
 silent and wondering. 
 
 "Prue," she said gently; and the Tomtit on the boards 
 perked its head round quickly. But her face did not fill 
 with reproach or indignation, as Iphigenia had expected. 
 Instead she smiled sweetly. 
 
 " Oh, it is you, dear," she said, with a change in her usually 
 sharp voice, which increased her sister's wonder. " I was 
 just putting the things right in the chest. But I will leave 
 it and finish it after supper if you are waiting." 
 
 " I was just thinking that I would do it myself," said 
 the seeker after sacrifice, her voice rendered less sweet than 
 her sister's by the regretful consciousness that she had been 
 robbed of every opportunity of showing the change that had 
 taken place in her heart. 
 
 " I ought to have tidied the box. It was my turn," she 
 said, making an effort to humble herself. 
 
 " But the things are nearly all mine," said Prudence as 
 humbly. " I ought not to have expected you to do it." 
 
 "And you have laid supper too," said Iphigenia wonder- 
 ingly. 
 
 "Yes, dear. I thought that you would be tired when 
 you came in, -and I was not very tired myself." 
 
 She spoke with a gentle resignation which suggested that 
 she was actually worn out, and Iphigenia's face unconsciously 
 assumed an air of weariness as she answered — 
 
 " I am sure that you are more tired than I am, dear. You 
 must let me finish this work, and lie down until supper." 
 
A CELIBATE'S WIFE 45 
 
 The same look of bewildered surprise which had been 
 on Iphigenia's face from the moment that she entered the 
 house, was reflecting itself in that of her sister as she rose 
 from her kneeling position. 
 
 " Have you felt a change too, Fidge ? " she asked wonder- 
 ingly. " I am so glad, dear." 
 
 She took her sister's hands in hers and kissed her, and 
 Iphigenia stood silent, unable to reply. She was trying to 
 say that she was glad her sister had passed through the 
 same blessed experience as herself, but could not. It was 
 so different from what she had expected. Without trying to 
 analyse her feelings, she knew that half the brightness had 
 gone out of the new life, and felt ashamed of knowing it. 
 
 " You must go and lie down for a little while now, dear, 
 and let me finish the box," she said, with a determined 
 struggle for the self-sacrifice which had been denied her at 
 every turn ; but Prudence smiled with Christian resignation, 
 and insisted on finishing her martyrdom. 
 
 They were arguing about it when their niece opened her 
 door five minutes later, and Angela did not guess from 
 their voices what a wonderful change had taken place in 
 the heart of each. She thought it was one of their old 
 squabbles. 
 
CHAPTER V 
 
 As a novelist may be affected to laughter and tears by his 
 own creations, so it is possible for a preacher to be influenced 
 by a sermon which he has delivered himself; and among the 
 many people who left the church after Canon Presyllett's 
 sermon with minds full of self-questioning which his words 
 had quickened, was to be counted the Canon himself. 
 
 In the midst of the homily which he had directed specially 
 to the Squire, Gateacre's own arguments against his celibacy 
 had returned for reconsideration in the light of the principle 
 he was enunciating. Nothing was right in God's eyes, how- 
 ever right it might appear in itself, if it was harmful to the 
 spiritual welfare of others. What about his celibacy if it 
 interfered with his spiritual influence in the parish and was 
 a stumbling-block to the ladies of his congregation ? 
 
 "An unmarried clergyman," the Squire had said to him 
 over their hasty dinner, "seems to me to cause more envy 
 and strife among the ladies of his congregation by the very 
 fact of his existence among them than he removes by the 
 whole of his preaching." 
 
 Was it possible that he ought therefore to marry, and, by 
 lowering his personal holiness, increase his spiritual useful- 
 ness in the world? It was a terrible question to decide, 
 complicated as it was by the growling of the Beast in him, 
 which scented good to itself from the debated sacrifice to 
 usefulness. 
 
 At the basis of every man's thoughts are ideas so deep 
 down that they are never questioned or thought of as opinions 
 at all. When a man gets down to them, he feels himself face 
 to face with Divine truth. That is why Divine truth is so 
 different to different men. It was among the unquestioned 
 
 46 
 
A CELIBATE'S WIFE 47 
 
 Divine truths in Canon Presyllett's mind that purity was 
 continence. Starting from this unquestioned basis, marriage 
 was, of course, simply a comparative form of impurity, a 
 sin when compared with the perfect purity of celibacy, a 
 virtue only when compared with worse forms of impurity, 
 and, as such, allowed to all who were not holy enough to be 
 perfectly pure. 
 
 He had clung to his perfect purity passionately against 
 the promptings of the flesh. There had been lapses, it is 
 true, especially in his younger days, atoned for in an agony 
 of self-abasement and contrition; but the good man had 
 never stooped to acknowledge that perfect purity was im- 
 possible for him, and to accept the compromise allowed to 
 the weak by God and the Church. He W'ould have felt 
 himself unfitted for his post if he had done sp. A priest 
 must set himself a higher ideal than that compassionately 
 allowed to his flock. 
 
 This more or less unconscious introduction into his scheme 
 of thought of two categories for good actions, those that 
 were allowable and those that were right, made his present 
 mental struggle a difficult one. 
 
 Just as it was right to remain a celibate, but allowable to 
 marry, so it was right to sacrifice everything for the spiritual 
 welfare of his parish, but allowable to make certain conces- 
 sions to his own spiritual welfare. 
 
 Was he to let his perfect purity detract from his perfect 
 usefulness, or to let his greater usefulness detract from his 
 perfect purity ? 
 
 He was suffering from the unavoidable weakness of a man 
 who sets before himself too high an ideal, and finds himself, 
 in every practical question which arises in his mind, making 
 a choice not between right and wrong, but between two 
 comparative wrongs. At the unquestioned background of 
 his beliefs was the idea that every human instinct was 
 opposed to God. God did not wish him to eat, drink, sleep, 
 or perform any natural function that had in it any physical 
 pleasantness. The creed would have been simple enough 
 had it not been accompanied by a contradictory belief that 
 God did not wish him to die, but to preach about Him. 
 
48 A CELIBATE'S WIFE 
 
 Thus, although eating was a sin in itself, it became an allow- 
 able sin when it was necessary for the maintenance of the 
 strength he needed in order to remain alive and preach. 
 The performance of every natural function, the satisfaction 
 of every human desire, had to be fought for by a similar 
 circular path of casuistry. It was God's will that he should 
 pijgach about Him everywhere and at all times, but if he 
 was fanatical nobody would listen, hence a Divine permis- 
 sion for a certain deference to etiquette and good breeding, 
 for chatting about the weather, and taking occasional cups 
 of tea with his parishioners. Sins, but sins that were 
 allowable because they were necessary to virtues. 
 
 It is the creed of Christendom, although the majority of 
 its adherents lay much greater stress on the sinfulness of 
 dying than on the sinfulness of living. 
 
 Canon Presyllett was made an ascetic by his greater 
 realisation of the sin of living; and the mental debate in 
 his mind ended as all mental debates do, by his determining 
 on the course which pleased him most. With his peculiar 
 cast of thought he clung to his purity, and silenced the 
 Beast and the suggestion of his sermon together. 
 
 He had taken a sharp walk after church, and came back 
 to the Rectory quite determined against marriage. 
 
 When he sat down to his ascetic supper of dry bread and 
 water, there was a letter lying on his plate which had come 
 by the evening post. He opened it hastily when he saw 
 the crest of Lord Winlay on the envelope. For it was from 
 Winlay that he had received the living of Windlehurst, and 
 he looked to him for further benefits. They had been 
 friends at college together, and although his Lordship was 
 a worldly man, their friendship had continued, a fact which 
 was less to be wondered at perhaps on Canon Presyllett's 
 side than on Winlay's. 
 
 There is nothing that the mind revolts against more 
 strongly than waste of material, and the Rector of Windle- 
 hurst was conscious of gifts which were wasted on a country 
 parish. His worldly ambition joined hands with his eager- 
 ness to do God's service in making him desire a larger 
 church to fill with his eloquence, and he was hoping that 
 
A CELIBATE'S WIFE 49 
 
 his old college friend would prove an instrument in God's 
 hand to increase the sphere of his usefulness. He opened 
 the instrument's letter with eagerness, therefore, and read 
 with a grave face what Winlay had written with a twinkle in 
 his eye. 
 
 "The rumour is true which you have heard," said the 
 letter ; " the vicar of St. Catherine's, Kensington, is going 
 to commit suicide, and has resigned his living to go and 
 preach to the niggers. I have mentioned your name to 
 my friend as you wished, and he seems inclined in your 
 favour. But, unfortunately, Delverton is a fellow who takes 
 his responsibilities to heart, and reckons to consider the 
 needs of the parish, and he seems to consider your celibacy 
 a great drawback. It appears that the late vicar had a wife, 
 who was more energetic in the place than her husband, and 
 who leaves a hundred Dorcas societies and boys' institutes 
 and such-like things waiting for a head. Delverton seems 
 to think the parish is more anxious for a good vicar's wife 
 than a good vicar, and knowing your ideas about marriage, 
 I scarcely felt safe in promising him that you would qualify 
 yourself for the living by taking a wife. Still it would be 
 a pity, old fellow, if you lost such a good chance just for 
 want of a lady. Couldn't you enter into a Platonic part- 
 nership with some devoted woman who wants to head a 
 hundred parish societies and things? You could afford to 
 offer her a substantial salary; for the living, as you know, 
 is a good one. If you cannot settle Delverton's doubts 
 and troubles on this score, I am afraid you will lose St. 
 Catherine's; for Delverton, although he would do a good 
 deal for me or a friend of mine, is very hot on his con- 
 science, and his conscience seems to be calling unmistakably 
 for a married vicar. 
 
 " I wish you could manage it in some way, old fellow ; for 
 if you got the church, it would allow us to see much more 
 of each other, and it would enable you to do more justice to 
 your great gifts than you can in a village parish." 
 
 The Canon moistened his dry lips with water, but could 
 not touch the frugal food before him. Before reading the 
 letter he had felt faint with the emotional strain of the service 
 
 D 
 
50 A CELIBATE'S WIFE 
 
 through which he had passed, but all thought of eating dis- 
 appeared before the revival of the struggle which had helped 
 to exhaust him after leaving the church. 
 
 To a man like Canon Presyllett, worshipping a God dis- 
 tinct from and superior to what he calls nature, a superior 
 God who shows Himself not in the laws of nature so much 
 as in interference with them, a coincidence is a very serious 
 thing. It is the only miracle which remains to encourage 
 his belief in the superior God, and in the Devil, who is also 
 included in his theology. 
 
 The difficulty is to decide, in the case of every coincidence, 
 whether it is due to God or Devil, whether it is leading or 
 temptation. 
 
 That this renewed attack on his celibacy, coming just at 
 a moment when it was so much in his thoughts, had been 
 arranged by a higher power for a special purpose, the Canon 
 never doubted for a moment. But was that purpose to show 
 him that God wished him to marry, or was it to try him and 
 test his purity ? 
 
 He rang to have his untouched supper cleared awaj^, and 
 locked himself in his study, lighted only by the moonlight 
 that streamed in colours through the window, to wrestle with 
 the question in prayer and thought. 
 
 The real desire to reach his highest point of usefulness 
 as a clergyman had united with his personal ambition to 
 make him desire a wife for parish purposes. The living of 
 St. Catherine's was one which offered great opportunities 
 both of usefulness and advancement. Too often his elo- 
 quence had passed, like a rich covey of birds rising before 
 purblind sportsmen, too high above the heads of his rural 
 congregation. He longed for a more enlightened body of 
 hearers, with a marksman for every winged idea that came 
 from his mind, and only in a London church did he hope 
 to find it. How the aristocratic west-end congregation would 
 appreciate him ; how much more useful he could be to natures 
 as refined as his own, with no bar of ignorance standing 
 between the soul of his hearer and his own as at Windlehurst. 
 The prospect dazzled him. 
 
 And Winlay, in spite of his worldliness and his half-jesting 
 
A CELIBATE'S WIFE 51 
 
 manner, was very careful never to create a wrong impression. 
 There could be little doubt, from his letter, that the absence 
 of a wife was the one thing which stood between him and 
 the living he longed for. 
 
 Spiritual and worldly ambition called out to him together, 
 with a voice so unanimous that it seemed like the voice of 
 spiritual ambition alone, to provide himself with a wife. 
 
 The Beast had gone to sleep, silenced by thought and 
 fasting. For one hour, delicious in its sense of holiness, 
 the man was perfectly passionless, and could see even marriage 
 in the white light of duty and sacrifice. His enjoyment of 
 the peace and holiness of his mood was undisturbed by any 
 thought of its transience. To have looked for a merely 
 physical explanation of his absence of passion would have 
 been for him an impiety, similar to that of attempting to 
 scientifically explain a miracle or the origin of his beliefs. 
 
 Canon Presyllett was never guilty of this impiety. 
 
 God had made him pure in answer to prayer and struggle, 
 and henceforth he would serve Him without a thought of 
 the flesh. 
 
 He felt very strong to-night, and in his strength a new 
 idea presented itself, which owed its origin no doubt to the 
 half-jesting suggestion of Winlay's letter. 
 
 Suddenly, with a clearness that made it surely an illumina- 
 tion from God, he saw in his need for a wife, not an attack 
 on his purity, but an opening for even greater holiness. To be 
 a celibate in the eyes of men was a great thing ; to be a celibate 
 in the eyes of God alone, surely that would be a greater. 
 If it was a mark of purity to resist the flesh when the world 
 would see any fall from his high position, how much greater a 
 form of purity it must be to resist the flesh when God alone 
 would know of any fall, when a fall would be only the exercise 
 of a right which the world and the Church held guiltless. He 
 would marry for the sake of his pastoral duties, and still be 
 pure, still be a celibate. The task might be a hard one, but 
 the difficulty, the sharpness of the temptation which would 
 confront him, would add only to the holiness of his sacrifice. 
 
 The arrival of Lord Winlay's letter had indeed been a 
 coincidence divinely arranged for his leading. 
 
52 A CELIBATE'S WIFE 
 
 Accustomed as he was to considering every action a matter 
 between himself and God, an attitude which had led, as in 
 Angela Gaydon, to an unhealthy self-concentration, the Canon 
 had practically decided that it was his duty to go through the 
 form of marriage with some woman, before it occurred to 
 him to wonder whether he could find any woman to take his 
 name and join in his spiritual work on the terms he suggested 
 to himself. 
 
 When he began to look at his new resolve — for in the 
 moment of illumination the idea had become a resolve at 
 once — the thought of Angela presented itself with a readiness 
 which showed that the thought of her had been interwoven 
 with his struggle from the first. It was her entrance imme- 
 diately after the Squire's appeal which had more or less 
 consciously given the renewed war over his celibacy its 
 strength. 
 
 He had noticed her in church, and had become interested 
 in her — partly with an interest which he fought against, be- 
 cause it was due to the fairness of her skin and the badly 
 concealed grace of her tall girlish form, partly with an interest 
 which did not shame him, because it was due to her evident 
 devoutness, by the eager sympathy with which she had listened 
 to and appreciated his words. 
 
 The same mingled emotions had been in his heart during 
 their interview, and he had been thrilled by the thought of 
 what she was willing to give to God through him, what a 
 charming personality was offered to him to utilise for God's 
 service. He felt much the same emotion which he would 
 have done if a fortune had been left to the church through 
 him. Without any idea of using the bequest for his own 
 selfish enjoyment, his personal appreciation of it would have 
 made him enjoy the pleasure of having it passed through his 
 hands. If, after the interview, Angela Gaydon had either 
 married or devoted herself to the work of another church, 
 he would have felt personally jealous. He intended to use 
 her for God's service alone, but all the same it must be he 
 who must do it. 
 
 The thought that he might utilise her for God's service 
 by marrying her, had indeed suggested itself at the moment 
 
A CELIBATE'S WIFE 53 
 
 that he had touched her ungloved hand; but he had recog- 
 nised the growling of the Beast, and put the thought away 
 from him quickly. 
 
 Now the thought came back as of a holy duty in which the 
 Beast had no part. 
 
 He remembered that she had been announced just at 
 the moment when he was telling the Squire that God would 
 raise up a way for him to satisfy the objections of the parish 
 to his celibacy, and this time the coincidence seemed to him 
 the undoubted leading of the Almighty. 
 
 It is dangerous to make the Almighty responsible for 
 coincidences. 
 
 It is often dangerous to pray. As the Canon threw 
 himself on his knees, thanking Deity for showing him his 
 duty and giving calm after storm, the practical objections 
 and dangers of what he proposed disappeared, and he 
 looked to the future as to a life of holiness and self-denial 
 in which God would ever be at his hand to give him 
 strength. 
 
 When the Canon rose faint and dizzy from his knees, 
 and crept upstairs to fall at once into a sleep of complete 
 exhaustion, poor Angela Gaydon's fate was already decided, 
 as far as the Rector of Windlehurst was concerned. 
 
 A mile away, Gabriel Lyne had fallen asleep thinking 
 of her. 
 
CHAPTER VI 
 
 When he woke, late in the morning, Canon Presyllett felt 
 some indination to reconsider his decision of the night 
 before. In the bright light of morning, with the sunshine 
 streaming through the Venetian laths of his uncurtained 
 window across his plain iron bedstead, he began to realise 
 the step in a more practical light than he had done in the 
 moonht study. He began to fear his strength. 
 
 But he put away the plain practical thoughts which came 
 to him, as something weak and worldly. In his highest and 
 holiest mood he had recognised the marriage to be the 
 leading of the Almighty, and there was only danger for him 
 in doubting now, when his thoughts were less pure. 
 
 God had spoken clearly in the night. It was impious 
 for him to reopen the question. It seemed to him that 
 his higher nature was warning him against a step that must 
 end in impurity, but the appearance must be a delusion, the 
 tempting of Satan, who tried to make him distrustful of the 
 strength that God would give him. 
 
 He tried to accept the question as a finally decided one, 
 and to dismiss it from his mind. 
 
 After he had dressed and breakfasted, he turned to his 
 Bible for relief from his thoughts, and, with his religious 
 regard for coincidences, opened the book at hazard. 
 
 He saw the leading of Deity again when his eyes fell on 
 the statement of Naaman's permitted compromise with his 
 conscience. 
 
 "In this thing the Lord pardon thy servant, that when 
 my master goeth into the house of Rimmon to worship 
 there, and he leaneth on my hand, and I bow myself in 
 the house of Rimmon : when I bow down myself in the 
 
A CELIBATE'S WIFE 55 
 
 house of Rimmon, the Lord pardon thy servant in this thing. 
 And Elisha said unto him, Go in peace." 
 
 The passage was a favourite one of the Canon's, which 
 accounted probably for the fact that the Bible opened at it. 
 The permitted compromise had often formed a welcome 
 precedent for compromises of his own of which his con- 
 science did not altogether approve, but for which he sought 
 the approval of God, and it soothed now certain qualms of 
 conscience he was feeling at the thought of using the marriage 
 ceremony for a purpose of his own, which would make all 
 its wording a mockery. 
 
 He was glowing with the consciousness of a Divine ap- 
 proval for his deception, when Angela was announced. She 
 had started for the Rectory immediately after breakfast, in 
 her eagerness to enjoy once more the spiritual pleasure 
 and honour of talking alone with the embodiment of her 
 Christian ideal. She had not found any necessity yet to 
 speak of her visits to her aunts, and hoped that when she 
 did so, she would also be able to announce her determina- 
 tion to take some step which the Canon would doubtless 
 suggest. He had promised to try and think out some way 
 in which she could show the world definitely that her hfe 
 was devoted to God's service, and a pleasant anticipation 
 filled her of new openings for self-devotion and sacrifice as 
 she knocked with less timidity than on the previous day at 
 the Rectory door and was shown once more into the little 
 anteroom. No visitor was taken direct to the study, where 
 the Rector spent so much time on his knees, and she had 
 to wait some minutes until the clergyman prepared himself 
 for the interview. 
 
 The announcement of her arrival had come as a shock 
 to him, although he was expecting it. For, with the know- 
 ledge that she had arrived, he realised suddenly the great 
 difference between satisfying his own conscience that an act 
 was right and persuading another person of its rightness. 
 
 His voice trembled with nervousness as he answered the 
 maid, telling her that he would see Miss Gaydon in a few 
 minutes, and he locked the door of the study behind her. 
 
 But his manner had no trace of nervousness as he wel- 
 
56 A CELIBATE'S WIFE 
 
 corned her after his prayer. His voice was calm and clear 
 the voice of a man who lived so near to heaven that its 
 intonation had caught something of heaven's serenity. 
 
 " My dear child," he said, taking both her hands when 
 they were in the study together, "I am so glad that you 
 have come. I have been giving much thought and prayer 
 to the difficulty you spoke to me about yesterday, and I 
 think — " (he stopped and corrected himself, for it was 
 more than thought, it was a divine inspiration which had 
 come to him) — "and God has raised up a way in which 
 we can help each other, and remove for each other the 
 stumbling-block which at present stands in the way of my 
 spiritual work as well as yours." 
 
 He had led her to a chair, and she gazed up at him with 
 enthusiastic gratitude and pleasure. 
 
 It was almost the same gratitude which she gave to her 
 Saviour, when she thought of His mercies to her. 
 
 That this man, so high and holy, had given thought and 
 prayer to her httle difficulties, was a great thing; that he 
 had thought of some means of helping her was a cause for 
 gratitude ; but that he had to offer her the inestimable honour 
 of helping him in his own difficulties — it was almost too 
 great for comprehension. Surely he must be saying it only 
 to flatter her. 
 
 Her eyes glowed with pleasure, and her smile thrilled h?m 
 with a sense of enjoyment which he did not explain to him- 
 self, but which helped him to go on. 
 
 " The proposal which I have to make to you will surprise 
 and perhaps startle you," he said, still standing and looking 
 down at her beautiful face flushed with excitement, "but 
 I have seen in it the clear leading of God, and I trust 
 that you will accept the proposal as from Him rather than 
 from me." 
 
 "I feel that anything you propose must be right," she 
 said truly enough; and her confidence, which would have 
 made some men diffident about themselves, only gave him 
 more encouragement. 
 
 "The proposal is that we should form a partnership for 
 doing our Lord's work," he went on in his low persuasive 
 
A CELIBATE'S WIFE 57 
 
 voice. "Although we spoke directly to each other for the 
 first time yesterday, still we know something of each other. 
 You have sufficient confidence in me, Miss Gaydon, to ask 
 my advice on the subject which is nearest to you. You are 
 aware of my work and life here, and I have heard something 
 of yours. Already the report of your labours among the 
 poor in the parish has reached me, although you have been 
 with us so short a time. I have recognised in you a devout 
 soul struggling towards an ideal of holiness and unworldliness 
 greater than that which the best of my flock set themselves, 
 and the fact induced me to make a confidence to you which 
 I should have made to few of my parishioners." 
 
 " I felt honoured by your confidence," she said quickly ; 
 and he smiled sublimely. 
 
 " As I felt honoured by yours. But we must not speak of 
 honour. It is only right that there should be full confidence 
 between those who have the one aim of serving God aright. 
 It is because I know you are so earnest in that aim that 
 I venture to make to you this proposal which He Himself 
 seems to have put into my mind." 
 
 " And the proposal ? " she asked, thrilled by his treatment 
 of her as a spiritual equal. " I do not quite understand. 
 You speak of a partnership." There was perplexity in her 
 manner. Perhaps a faint suspicion of what such a proposal 
 from any other man than the celibate clergyman would have 
 foreshadowed had touched her mind in spite of herself. 
 
 " Yes, a partnership in good works," he said gently ; " that 
 we should join hand in hand in our labours in this parish, or in 
 a larger to which our Master may see fit to send me, sharing 
 one roof and one name." 
 
 " You mean " She half rose from her chair, confronting 
 
 him with wide-open eyes in which incredulity struggled with 
 her reverence for him. 
 
 He put his hand on her shoulder, and looked down with 
 a grave sweetness into her startled face. 
 
 " My dear child, do not misunderstand me. I know that 
 for you, as for me, marriage as the world understands marriage 
 is a thing not to be thought of, something that would serve 
 but to draw away our hearts and thoughts from the service 
 
58 A CELIBATE'S WIFE 
 
 of our Lord, a sinful sacrifice of the spirit to the flesh. I 
 would not for a moment propose it to you, any more than I 
 could propose it to myself." 
 
 "But without marriage " she said, her face aflame, and 
 
 could not go on. She could not help thinking of Mrs. 
 Grundy, and felt half afraid, so great was her reverence for 
 his goodness, that she might be faUing short of the holiness 
 he ascribed to her by doing so. 
 
 He answered with a studied calm. 
 
 "Without going through a form to satisfy the world, that 
 partnership is of course impossible. But by going through 
 that form we should each find that the difficulties which 
 at present hamper us both would disappear. Do not 
 judge the idea too quickly," he went on, alarmed by the 
 expression of her face. *' Lay it before God with prayer, 
 as I have done, and perhaps you will see it as I see it, in 
 the form of a duty which He requires from us to enable 
 us each to do His service more completely." 
 
 "But I am afraid that I do not understand," she said, 
 becoming distressed. " Do we make marriage any different 
 by calling it a form, by saying that it is not a marriage as 
 the world " 
 
 " Not by calling but by making it so," he said, biting his 
 lip. He had expected her to see more quickly exactly what 
 he proposed, and he began to wonder with what degree of 
 bluntness she would force him to speak. " My idea is that 
 we should be married in the eyes of man, unmarried in the 
 eyes of God," he said, making another attempt. " Do you 
 not see, my dear child, that by nominally becoming my 
 wife, you will satisfy the voices around you, which you find 
 so distracting? Marriage with another will have become 
 legally impossible to you, and you will be freed at once 
 from the pain of hearing it suggested to you either as a 
 duty or a natural ambition. For myself the gain will be 
 even greater, for by one action I should v*'ipe away a hundred 
 difficulties which arise in my parish work through the fact 
 that I am unmarried. The world would be satisfied, but 
 for us there would be no change. You would take my 
 name and live under my roof, thus removing yourself from 
 
A CELIBATE'S WIFE 59 
 
 the worldly distractions which surround you. But that 
 would be the full extent of our concession to the world. 
 The Rectory would be your convent, my monastery, where, 
 having satisfied the world, we could still preserve in actual 
 fact that highest state of purity, the unmarried state, which 
 our Lord expects from His faithfullest disciples." 
 
 His voice was full of persuasive eloquence. It was the 
 voice in which he had preached the sermons which had 
 done so much to persuade her of his great holiness, and 
 the association had its effect on her attitude to his sug- 
 gestion. 
 
 In the first realisation of his meaning, which was no 
 longer doubtful to her, her natural healthiness of mind, 
 which her girlish flush of religious ardour had left as yet 
 unwarped and little distorted, had enabled her to see in 
 his proposal something unnatural and unholy, something 
 underhand and deceitful ; but his manner, his air of sublimity, 
 made her ashamed of the light in which the proposal sug- 
 gested itself to her. She felt that she was looking at it in 
 a worldly way. 
 
 Like every woman, she was affected more by personality 
 than principle. To her certain views were right chiefly 
 because they were held by certain people whom she admired 
 or loved. Her creed was a record of the personal influences 
 which had surrounded her. As she had told the Canon, it 
 was the memory of her dead mother which had kept her 
 in the English Church. It was not any comparison of the 
 principles which made it different from Romanism. In the 
 same way, her tendency to Romanism was accounted for by 
 her deep devotion to the morbidly self-centred French girl 
 with whom she had lived for two years, and who had just 
 taken the veil. Robbed of Cecile's influence, Angela had 
 looked round for another leader, and had chosen the Rector 
 of Windlehurst, partly because his views agreed more closely 
 than those of anybody else in her new home with the views 
 she had derived from Cecile, partly because of his eloquence, 
 his appearance as he stood transfigured in the light of the 
 pulpit candles. 
 
 The whole tendency of her belief was to make her distrust 
 
6o A CELIBATE'S WIFE 
 
 any natural emotion or instinctive thought, and her first 
 repulsion to the pseudo-marriage which the Canon suggested 
 was perfectly natural and instinctive. 
 
 The very name of marriage had recalled those vague 
 dreams which lie in the background of a girl's thoughts, a 
 deep well of romance from which the mists rise in mysterious 
 shapes to fill their thoughts at times with a vague happy 
 fairyland of anticipation. Cecile's morbid influence had made 
 for Angela the well an unholy one, to be lidded heavily with 
 holiness. But the mists would still rise at times, and they 
 had touched her thoughts with romance at the word of 
 marriage. 
 
 For the first time she looked at the Canon as a man, 
 comparing him with shadowy ideals of manly beauty, and 
 shrinking from the contrast. 
 
 But the thought frightened her. It was this uncontrollable 
 romance about marriage struggling with her devout serenity 
 which had really made her long for some definite binding 
 vow of virginity like Cecile's. Now that it was offered to 
 her, she shrank from it. Surely it must only be a worldly 
 weakness for her dreams which made her do so. The 
 EngUsh convent she had prayed for opened its doors. It 
 must be worldliness which made her hesitate to enter it. 
 Was she, after all, too unholy to accept the duty offered her ? 
 
 She forced back all that was natural and healthy and 
 honest in her thoughts, and tried to see the proposal in 
 a sacred light. Unconsciously she was swayed by emotions 
 which were just as much part of her natural character as 
 her romance. 
 
 Her love of her own way and her girlish conceit had woven 
 themselves unperceived in with her devoutness, and had always 
 helped her in her renunciation of the idea of marriage. 
 
 She wanted to be always free and independent, and she 
 wanted to know that she was holier than other people, and 
 the pseudo-marriage appealed to both desires. 
 
 In the Canon's suggestion she saw the promise of complete 
 freedom and equality. Her marriage would no more pledge 
 her to the obedience which would be distasteful to her than 
 to the love which would be sinful for both. She would live 
 
A CELIBATE'S WIFE 6i 
 
 her own life of devotion to God, undeterred by the sordid 
 duties of domesticity and maternity, and in doing so she 
 would retain the pleasing knowledge that all her aims were 
 higher than those of other girls. 
 
 She was dazzled by the honour paid her in being chosen 
 out by such a man as the Canon to share his home and 
 assist his purpose. 
 
 Her honesty still rebelled, however. 
 
 *' Would it not be a deception," she asked, " to pretend 
 to the world that we are married ? " 
 
 Her slender hands clasped and unclasped nervously, but 
 the look of startled fear was dying out of her eyes, and leaving 
 in them their customary devotional calm. He was relieved 
 to find, from her question and manner, that she understood 
 his proposal, and that it was beginning to appeal to her. 
 He had been closely watching her clear expressive face, which 
 almost enabled him to see the thoughts that passed through 
 her mind. 
 
 The question she asked now was one he had expected, and 
 prepared for by an elaborate line of casuistry — casuistry by 
 which he had satisfied his own conscience. Their marriage 
 would be not so much a pretended one as a spiritual one, of 
 which the other was an emblem. On its human side the 
 marriage ceremony was a pledge that two people devoted 
 themselves to each other to the exclusion of any other 
 alliance, and, as the only means of pledging themselves to 
 the world, to exclude any other alliance was not a pretence 
 at all. Although it would not give the world a true idea of 
 their attitude to each other, still it would give them a true 
 idea of their attitude to others, and in this manner would 
 deceive them less than their remaining unmarried would do. 
 
 Angela did not sift or examine his arguments. It was 
 enough that he had seen the objection and that his con- 
 science did not revolt. All the respect which she had been 
 accustomed to give to the official exponents of her creed 
 weighed heavy on his side, and she would have felt it a 
 spiritual impertinence to question his decision on a plain 
 question of right and wrong. He did not give her time to 
 weigh his arguments if she wished. 
 
62 A CELIBATE'S WIFE 
 
 " Let us pray for God's guidance, that we may accept 
 His leading in all things," he said, as he finished speaking. 
 
 Unconsciously prayer had become a trick of argument 
 with him, both in the lonely debates he had with his own 
 conscience, and in arguments with those who came to him 
 for advice. In his dispute with the Squire about the reading- 
 room, it had enabled him to assume the authority of God 
 for his own belief. In his self-questioning, it had helped 
 him to forget in emotion a discomforting scruple. He used 
 it now to gloss over in the girl's mind the deception that 
 they were to practise. 
 
 In an eloquent appeal to the Deity, he led away her 
 thoughts from the means by which her liberty was to be 
 obtained to its results when, left alone by the world, she 
 would live an undisturbed life of spiritual thought and 
 devotion to God's service. 
 
 As Angela listened her doubts disappeared, and she 
 wondered at the impiety which had made her question for 
 a moment the hohness and right of the step which this man 
 of God had proposed to her. 
 
 With her scruples swept away, the prospect became more 
 entrancing than ever. Instead of the daily pettiness of the 
 life at Lilac Lodge, with its constant distraction to her 
 highest thoughts and emotions, she pictured herself in the 
 serene calm of the Rectory with its devotional incentives. 
 In her mental picture every room was like the study, every- 
 thing had the air of an old cathedral. It seemed possible 
 to live in such a place, as in a convent, with no thought of 
 the world. And this ideal of holiness, whose prayer sounded 
 divinely in her ears, would be always at hand to help her 
 in every spiritual difficulty. With his wonderful and Christ- 
 like condescension he would use her aid in his life and in 
 his work. She could devote herself without other thought 
 to the poor and suffering. Surely it was the ideal life of 
 hoHness that she had longed for. 
 
 Their faces were both illuminated when they rose from 
 their knees. 
 
 The Canon took her hand with a paternal smile. 
 
 "My dear sister in God," he said gravely and sweetly, 
 
A CELIBATE'S WIFE 63 
 
 ** you must think over what I have said. I do not ask you 
 to decide now or even quickly. Think and pray over it, and 
 give me your decision." 
 
 " I would rather give it now, if I may," she said quietly. 
 The thought of her impious misgivings, and a half fear that 
 they would return when she left the cathedral-hke study and 
 the beatified presence of the clergyman, had rendered her 
 eager to catch at the life of holy calm held out to her, while 
 she could realise it in its right light as a duty. 
 
 " And your decision ? " he asked, almost sternly, the light 
 fading from his face. It leapt back as she answered, almost 
 in a whisper — 
 
 "I will be your wife in the eyes of the world. Canon 
 Presyllett. I feel that it will be a great honour and a great 
 help to mc." 
 
 He took both her hands, conquering an impulse to kiss 
 her — an action which his conscience would have allowed, 
 but which might have frightened her. 
 
 " My dear sister, I felt sure that you would see it as I 
 do, as the leading of God." 
 
 When she was gone the Beast spoke. 
 
 " That is all right," he said. 
 
 " But you are going to be repressed and tortured," said 
 the Angel, but his voice was a timid and fearful one. 
 
CHAPTER VII 
 
 Angela owed the fact that she had been permitted to pay 
 her morning visit to the Rectory without curiosity or question 
 on her aunts' part, to their recent conversion. 
 
 The rivalry of the sisters in good works and self-sacrifice 
 kept them too busy to pay any attention to their niece. 
 
 Iphigenia, who had found herself on the previous evening 
 robbed of every opportunity of self-abnegation, rose early in 
 the morning, determined to atone for her failure and score 
 as many successes as possible over Prudence during the day. 
 
 There was the garden to be watered, a duty which the 
 old maids always performed themselves, each being careful 
 to water only her own side of the dividing path, and taking 
 pains not to give a drop of moisture to her sister's half. 
 
 It would be a sign of the change in her heart indeed 
 if Prudence came down to find the whole garden watered, 
 and Iphigenia hurried into her straw hat and gardening gloves. 
 But when she opened the front door, there was Prudence 
 with a smile of conscious goodness watering Iphigenia's own 
 side of the plot. 
 
 The httle old maid could have cried with vexation, and 
 it was all that she could do to greet her sister with the 
 sweetness which one Christian should show to another. It 
 was little satisfaction to her to begin work on Prudence's 
 side of the garden, especially as she had not time to com- 
 plete it before Prudence was ready to assist. 
 
 After breakfast she hurried into the drawing-room to dust 
 her sister's ornaments there before her own, but in her ex- 
 citement to get it done before Prudence suspected what 
 was going on, she dropped a little pot-Cupid of her sister's, 
 which gave Prudence when she came in an opportunity for 
 
 64 
 
A CELIBATE'S WIFE 65 
 
 showing a holy resignation. They came very near one of 
 their old worldly quarrels, disputing which should be per- 
 mitted to sacrifice herself and bear the expense of the 
 breakage. 
 
 The morning was very much like other mornings, except 
 that Prudence did all Iphigenia's work and Iphigenia all 
 Prudence's. They disputed a little more than usual, but 
 the dispute was always over the question which should deny 
 herself most. 
 
 Once a week one of the sisters walked the ugly three 
 miles of highroad which joined Windlehurst to Barnwood, 
 the nearest town, in order to shop. 
 
 To-day it was Prudence's turn, and Iphigenia dressed for 
 the unwelcome expedition half-an-hour before her sister would 
 think of doing so. 
 
 Prudence flushed when she came down with her hat 
 on, with a flush that would have meant angry surprise in 
 one whose heart had not been changed. There was a touch 
 of vinegar tasting through the sweetness of her voice when 
 she spoke. 
 
 " You are going for a walk, dear ? " 
 
 " I thought I would go over to Barnwood for you, dear," 
 said Iphigenia, feeling that it was easier than it had been 
 since her conversion to speak sweetly and gently. 
 
 " But you went last Thursday," said Prudence sharply. 
 
 "Yes, dear, but that does not matter at all. I am sure 
 that you must be tired after working so hard all the morning 
 for me, and the road is such a tiring one." 
 
 " But it is just as tiring for you, dear, and you have done a 
 great deal for me." 
 
 The two Tomtits faced one another, with round eyes 
 and little mouths, equally full of determination. Iphigenia 
 had made up her mind that this time she would have her 
 own way and deny herself at all costs. 
 
 Prudence recognised the fact and changed her tactics. Her 
 voice became as sweet and resigned as her sister's. 
 
 ** Very well, dear, if you are so anxious to go. There were 
 one or two reasons — but it does not matter ; next week will 
 do for me. Go, dearest, by all means." 
 
66 A CELIBATE'S WIFE 
 
 Iphigenia hesitated, her face falling. 
 
 " But if you wish to go." 
 
 " Oh no ; it does not matter at all, dear, thank you," said 
 Prudence resignedly, and she fluttered out of the room before 
 her sister could reply. 
 
 Iphigenia, after a few minutes' deliberation, followed her up 
 to her room, and Prudence rose from her knees with the 
 suffering sweetness of a person disturbed in prayer. 
 
 " If you really wish to go to Barn wood, dear," said 
 Iphigenia, " do not let me prevent you. I was only think- 
 ing of you." 
 
 Prudence interrupted her in the last sentence. 
 
 " Oh no, it does not matter at all. There are several 
 things I ought to do. The china closet wants cleaning out, 
 and I think you will find the walk a pleasant change after 
 being indoors so much." 
 
 " Oh, very well, if you are determined to make a martyr 
 of yourself whatever you do," said Iphigenia, her temper 
 giving way, and she bounced out of the house, with the 
 unpleasant sense that she was suffering a hardship without 
 even the consolation of knowing that she was holy. 
 
 Her offer to go to Barnwood had not been prompted 
 entirely by unselfish motives. It offered her a chance of 
 taking a bold step on which she had decided, with less 
 fear of discovery on Prudence's part. If she had allowed 
 Prudence to go to Barnwood and then started on her own 
 errand, Susannah would be sure to mention the fact when 
 her sister returned, and Prudence's curiosity would make 
 necessary either confession or evasion. But if she per- 
 formed her errand on her way from Barnwood, Prudence 
 would suspect nothing. And with instinctive jealousy of her 
 twin, she was very anxious that Prudence should know 
 nothing of the venturesome and questionable thing she was 
 going to do. She had decided to accept the invitation given 
 from the church pulpit, and call on Canon Presyllett at the 
 Rectory — alone. 
 
 She had lain awake half the night tormented by the bold- 
 ness of the idea, but unable to resist its temptation. 
 
 Her thought of a new life had been insensibly connected 
 
A CELIBATE'S WIFE 67 
 
 with the Canon, and half its anticipated attraction had been 
 due to the feeling that it would bring her closer to him. 
 The white light of holiness loses its whiteness when passed 
 through the crystal even-sided spectrum of impartial analysis. 
 Its constituents are seen to be of many colours. If Miss 
 Iphigenia's new love of holiness had been mercilessly split 
 into component parts, an important one would have been 
 found to be her desire to marry the Rector. 
 
 Prudence wished to marry him also, so did every other 
 unmarried woman over the age of thirty in the parish. It 
 was the unavoidable consequence of the conditions under 
 which they lived, and for which they cannot be blamed. 
 
 When a girl has passed the age of romance, in which her 
 only thought is of an ideal man in whose company she will 
 spend an ideal existence, she realises that, putting the ideal 
 man and the ideal exi5.tence out of the question, she will 
 be happier married than unmarried. Her married friends 
 combine to make her think so. Anxious to gain some credit 
 for themselves for having secured a husband, they agree to 
 treat those who have not done so as their inferiors in some 
 way. The chances are that the unmarried woman is their 
 superior in refinement, and has suffered through having a 
 higher ideal than themselves; but they agree to despise her 
 for the fact. Thus, in addition to the loneliness and aim- 
 lessness due to her position, she has to suffer a sense of 
 inferiority to other women, and her state becomes less en- 
 durable than that of a woman unromantically married to a 
 man without any particular attractions. When she ceases 
 to think of marrying for romance, she finds that she must 
 marry for comfort. But romance dies only with youth, 
 especially in finer natures, and too often a woman awakes 
 to the practical advisability of matrimony only when she 
 has lost those charms which render her attractive to the 
 majority of men who are looking out for wives. The advent 
 into her small circle of an unmarried man whose character is 
 considered from his position above reproach, whose respecta- 
 bility is guaranteed, and whose duties enable her to form his 
 acquaintance without difficulty, must of necessity come to her 
 in the light of a great opportunity. It could not be otherwise, 
 
68 A CELIBATE'S WIFE 
 
 and the fact of every old maid in an unmarried clergyman's 
 parish wishing for his hand is no material for contempt or 
 amusement. 
 
 A woman's interest in the struggle varies, of course, 
 according to the estimate she forms of her chance of success, 
 and Miss Iphigenia's estimate had always been rather a high 
 one. Her constant fear of her sister's rivalry had tended 
 to make her undervalue that of other opponents, and she 
 sometimes felt as though there were only two things between 
 herself and the name of Mrs. Presyllett. One was the 
 Canon's absurd attitude towards matrimony, against which 
 she never ceased to inveigh ; the other was Prudence. 
 
 It was the fear lest Prudence might steal an advantage 
 over her which drove her now to the bold step of calling 
 on the Canon to seek his sympathy in the change that had 
 come over her life. It was an offence against the ideas of 
 propriety in which she had been brought up, and which had 
 strengthened in her with her age. Everybody has a tendency 
 to consider heinous those faults which they have no oppor- 
 tunity of committing. It is a method by which we com- 
 pensate ourselves for loss of opportunity by adding to the 
 virtue of our non-performance. When Iphigenia had no 
 spiritual hopes or difficulties to carry to her Rector, she 
 had been very severe in her condemnation of those who 
 carried them to his bachelor abode ; but now — well, she had 
 placed a higher ideal before her than mere respectability, 
 and she wanted to enjoy the advantages of it. Prudence 
 was almost sure to do so if she did not. 
 
 She would get through her shopping quickly and call on 
 her return, and she hurried briskly through the village street, 
 where the religious revival had already left some traces. 
 
 The local butcher had scrawled up in red letters on a 
 great card in his window: "The Leopard hath changed his 
 Spots " — he had lost custom through his bad reputation in 
 the place — " Christ died for Me ; " and underneath : " Prime 
 American Beef, gd. per lb." 
 
 Farther on, the stone-breaker by the wayside had stopped 
 work and seated himself on his heap to read a Testament. 
 
 The old maid shivered a little at each sign of a changed 
 
A CELIBATE'S WIFE 69 
 
 heart, and the respectability which before her conversion 
 had formed nine-tenths of her rehgion, recoiled from the 
 idea that she was placing herself on the level of the evil- 
 living butcher and the poverty-stricken stone-breaker. She 
 wondered whether in his heart of hearts the Canon himself 
 would respect her more for the possession of an emotion 
 which he was accustomed to seeing chiefly in the less-educated 
 members of his flock. She stood still a little beyond the 
 converted stone-breaker, on the otherwise deserted high- 
 road, her locomotive power run to thought, and there took 
 place in her heart that struggle between the old and the 
 new which the Canon himself had told her would come. It 
 was a struggle of which he had spoken, when the Devil 
 tries to draw back the soul which has started to climb the 
 heights. 
 
 "All the people of good family that you know are only 
 respectably and moderately religious," said the Devil. " They 
 go to church, and take a dignified part in parish work, but 
 they do not talk about religion or think about it in their 
 ordinary life. It is only the rifl"-raff who become fanatical 
 and talk about their souls to other people." 
 
 " But the dear Canon is fanatical," said God. 
 
 " It is his business," said the Devil. " Bishops and canons 
 are permitted even to mention in an aristocratic drawing-room 
 the fact that they have souls." 
 
 " But with the Canon it is no mere profession," said God ; 
 " holiness fills all his thoughts, and it is only by becoming 
 holy that a woman can appeal to his sympathies and attract 
 his interest." 
 
 The Devil retired at that, and Iphigenia went on firm 
 in her intention of living the new life that would bring her 
 more than she had been in touch with the unmarried Rector. 
 Before, she had felt a barrier of reserve between them, and 
 she saw now clearly what it was. She was worldly, he was 
 holy. Now she had changed, and who knew, perhaps the 
 barrier would be gone. 
 
 She tripped along brightly now, preparing her spiritual 
 difficulties for his ear, and elaborating an account of the 
 change in her heart due to his sermon, which would per- 
 
70 A CELIBATE'S WIFE 
 
 suade him of its greatness without suggesting that her heart 
 had in it much to find fault with before the change. If 
 she said that she had ceased to squabble with Prudence, 
 he might think that she was naturally bad-tempered, and 
 that would not do. She must show him that her temper 
 had always been sweet, but that it had become sweeter. 
 
 The mental excitement of it all made her forget half her 
 shopping, but the remembrance of her omissions suggested 
 fresh fields for pious resignation when Prudence blamed her 
 for them, and she did not turn back. There was food 
 for satisfaction in the thought that Prue's new sweetness 
 would be tried to the utmost when she heard that her 
 favourite sardines and the skein of wool she wanted had 
 been forgotten. 
 
 Iphigenia walked along briskly and cheerfully, but her 
 step slackened as she neared the Rectory. She glanced 
 anxiously up and down the road, but not a soul was in 
 sight to carry the news of her visit to the village. 
 
 Her breath came a little faster than usual, and there was 
 more colour than usual in her cheeks. She tried to open 
 the gate without sound, and its irrepressible click startled 
 her; but the gate had closed behind her, and she must go 
 on. She must walk quickly, or somebody might pass and 
 see her going up the path. The fear drove her forward, 
 and she was half-way up the broad gravel path when the 
 door of the house to which she was making her way opened, 
 and a lady was shown out. 
 
 Iphigenia stopped in consternation. She had overlooked 
 the danger of being seen by the other callers whom the 
 Rector must have after his addresses, and the thought of 
 flight suggested itself. But it was too late, the figure was 
 coming down the steps, and as Iphigenia raised her eyes, 
 all her shame turned into indignation. For the lady was 
 Prudence. 
 
 Iphigenia's eyes blazed with anger. To think that Pru- 
 dence should have so far forgotten the ideas of propriety in 
 which they had been bred, as to call on an unmarried man 
 alone. To think that she should call secretly without her 
 knowledge^ while she had pretended to be clearing out the 
 
A CELIBATE'S WIFE 71 
 
 china closet. She knew what it was — Prudence had been 
 trying to steal an advantage over her, and ingratiate herself 
 with the Rector under cover of seeking his spiritual advice. 
 Her feelings were shocked and outraged, and she stood 
 waiting for her sister with a heart full of bitterness. 
 
 If there had been time for her to get back to the road 
 unseen, she might have repressed her feelings sufficiently 
 to meet her with grave and kindly rebuke; but Prudence 
 must have already caught sight of her, and might, for all 
 she knew, be ascribing to her pure desire for spiritual help 
 the same ignoble motives which must have prompted her 
 own visit. It was necessary for her to assert herself, and 
 instinctively her mind answered to the need by painting her 
 sister's conduct in the blackest and her own in the whitest 
 colours. She had given up her idea of visiting the Canon at 
 the first sight of her sister, and almost managed to persuade 
 herself that she had never intended to do so. 
 
 Prudence came along with her little beak in the air, and 
 Iphigenia sprang towards her excitedly. 
 
 " Prudence Gaydon, I am ashamed of you." 
 
 " Do not be absurd, Fidge ; you are going yourself." 
 
 " I am certainly not. And so this is why you drove me 
 to Barnwood and pretended that you were going to clear out 
 the china closet." 
 
 " I have finished it, and there is no need to create a scene 
 here. I have something to tell you." 
 
 There was none of the morning's sweetness in her tone, 
 and Iphigenia was somewhat appeased by noticing from her 
 face and manner that the visit had not been a satisfactory 
 one. The way in which Prudence promised her news made 
 curiosity crowd out her indignation a little, and she turned to 
 walk with her to the road. 
 
 But the indignation was not quite dead yet. 
 
 "To think that a sister of mine," she said icily, "should 
 call alone on an unmarried man." 
 
 Prudence sniffed. 
 
 " My dear Fidge, pray don't alarm yourself. If Canon 
 Presyllett is not married he is engaged, which is much the 
 same thing." 
 
72 A CELIBATE'S WIFE 
 
 She enjoyed her sister's consternation. 
 
 Iphigenia stopped to stare. 
 
 " Engaged ? " 
 
 " Yes ; engaged to our niece, Angela Gaydon. She called 
 on him this morning, and promised to marry him." 
 
 " Our niece — Angela — to marry — the Rector ! " 
 
 Iphigenia stood gasping, and her bird-like little brown eyes 
 looked as if they must bolt out. 
 
 " Yes ; that is the explanation of the young lady's holiness, 
 and of her visiting the sick, and all that nonsense. It 
 seems that the designing girl has been calling on him every 
 day on the pretence of asking his spiritual advice, and pre- 
 tending to us all the while that she was giving tracts to 
 the poor." 
 
 " The minx ! " said Iphigenia. 
 
 "And to think that she is the child of our own brother," 
 said Prudence. 
 
 " And that such a man as Canon Presyllett should be taken 
 in by it." 
 
 "A man who pretended that he had religious objections 
 to marriage. Just because she has a pretty face." 
 
 " And thinks herself so much better than anybody else," 
 said Iphigenia, whose desire for holiness had owed something 
 to jealousy of Angela's superior calm. " I must say that 
 Canon Presyllett has sunk in my respect." 
 
 " I never admired him as a man," said Prudence ; and so 
 they went on, forgetting their own quarrels in crying down 
 the two people who had disappointed their hopes. 
 
 Only, as they neared home, Iphigenia perked her head in 
 the air. 
 
 " Well ! I thank Heaven that I have remained a lady and 
 have never run after the Rector," she said ; and Prudence, 
 who recognised in the thrust at Angela a subtle one at herself, 
 answered sharply — 
 
 " No, dear. I just prevented you in time." 
 
 At the gate Prudence stopped to speak to a neighboui, 
 and Iphigenia hastened into the house, thrust her sister's 
 gardening hat, which Susannah had hung thoughtlessly on 
 the top peg of the hall-stand, on the floor, and hung her own 
 
A CELIBATE'S WIFE 73 
 
 hat and cloak there instead. Then she hastened into her 
 own room and rang for Susannah. 
 
 " Please tell Miss Prudence that I am very tired with my 
 long walk and cannot see to the table to-day." 
 
 Susannah came back with a message from her sister — 
 
 " Please, Miss Prudence says it is your turn to see to the 
 table. She is tired herself, and she never asked you to go 
 to Barn wood." 
 
 The old worldly war had begun again 
 
CHAPTER VIII 
 
 The attitude taken towards the Canon's engagement by the 
 Tomtits was that of all the unmarried ladies in the parish. 
 
 The human heart is always providing itself with compensa- 
 tions. When we fail in a desire, there is still satisfaction to 
 be gained from blackening the character of those who have 
 succeeded, and luxuriating in a sense of our superior good- 
 ness. It is a universal impulse which makes us do so. It 
 is sufficient to account for the invention of the idea of Hell. 
 
 Every woman who had hoped, however feebly, to win the 
 Rector, talked venomously of the girl who had succeeded. 
 They had schemed and failed, they said to themselves, so she 
 must have schemed more to win ; and they blazoned abroad 
 their deduction as a fact, without mentioning the reasoning 
 by which they had arrived at it, and every one of them was 
 priding herself on scheming so little. 
 
 For the Canon himself they had a gentle pity. They had 
 all agreed that he ought to marry. Now that he proposed 
 doing so, they sighed over his surrender of a high ideal. 
 
 The Tomtits took tea with Mrs. Gateacre at the Hall, and 
 carried this feeling with them. The Squire, who ascribed 
 the engagement to his own arguments, began to think that 
 he had made a mistake. 
 
 "I am hanged if I make myself a mouthpiece for the 
 parish again," he said to his wife, when the old maids had 
 gone. " Everybody said that Presyllett ought to be a married 
 man, and now that he has promised to oblige them they all 
 seem disappointed." 
 
 "They think that he might have chosen somebody more 
 suitable in point of age," said his wife; and the Squire 
 shrugged his broad, plump shoulders. 
 
A CELIBATE'S WIFE 75 
 
 " What each woman meant, it seems to me, was not that 
 Presyllett should become a married man, but that he should 
 marry herself. I am sorry I spoke a word for them. They 
 are not satisfied. Presyllett is sacrificing his scruples; and 
 then there is the girl — a sweet young thing she seems, who 
 ought to have a man marrying her for love and not for the 
 good of his parish." 
 
 " I suppose the Canon must be in love with her," said his 
 wife; but the Squire shook his head. 
 
 "I do not think Presyllett is the man to be in love with 
 anybody. He is too much in love with his work for that, 
 and he is sacrificing the girl to it. I have a good mind to 
 tell him that he has no right." 
 
 "I do not think that Miss Gaydon will consider herself 
 sacrificed," said his wife. " And, from all I hear, she cannot 
 be a very nice sort of a girl. Did you hear why she did not 
 come here this afternoon? She considers afternoon calls 
 worldly, and had some sick people to visit. I wonder whether 
 she will be quite so pious after she is married." 
 
 " She will find the Rectory pretty dull if she is not," said 
 the Squire. " Presyllett is not a bad fellow, of course, but 
 somehow I do not like the idea of his marrying a young girl. 
 To tell the truth, I would rather see her married to young 
 Lyne, if he is an infidel." 
 
 His wife laughed. 
 
 "What a match! Gabriel will never fall in love with a 
 pious young lady." 
 
 "He will make a pleasanter lover and husband than 
 Presyllett, though, when he does fall in love." 
 
 " Possibly ; but you must not forget that your ideas are 
 worldly — in Miss Angela Gaydon's opinion." 
 
 The girl's refusal to come to tea rankled in the good lady's 
 mind, or rather, the form in which her aunts had stated the 
 reason for her refusal. 
 
 The Squire shrugged his shoulders again. 
 
 " Well ! I wash my hands of the affair ; although it is easy 
 enough to do that after muddling things up. I wish that I 
 had left Presyllett's marriage alone." 
 
 Angela herself suffered very little from the animosity which 
 
76 A CELIBATE'S WIFE 
 
 she had roused against herself by her promise to the Rector. 
 Her conscientious scruples against wasting, in the social 
 dissipation of calls and tea-drinking, time that she might 
 devote to God's service, lifted her out of a den of lions. 
 Many elaborately prepared speeches, calculated to deliver a 
 stab under the guise of polite congratulation, were lost for 
 want of an opportunity to deliver them. When the female 
 wasps who had prepared them buzzed their way into Lilac 
 Lodge, Angela was rarely to be seen. If she was not out 
 visiting the poor, she was in her room devoting her time to 
 prayer and contemplation. Her aunts allowed her her own 
 way in everything, now that she was to leave them. Her 
 eccentricities, in the way of wandering among the cottages 
 without escort, and refusing invitations, had been stamped 
 with the approval of the Rector, and no longer threatened 
 to draw down disgrace upon them. She was free to engage 
 in any good work that took her fancy, and she disturbed the 
 orderly routine of the house by taking her meals at any 
 moment that she could spare time for them. 
 
 In a way, her aunts had made a heroine of her. After 
 their first burst of jealous indignation at the news of her 
 engagement, they began to console themselves by thinking 
 of the worse things that might have happened. If the Canon 
 had not chosen one of them, he had not chosen one of the 
 other ladies in the parish whose rivalry they had feared. If 
 he had not made one of them Mrs. Presyllett, he was about 
 to raise their social standing in the village by making them 
 his aunts-in-law. It gave them a sense of superiority to the 
 other ladies in the parish, and they began to feel grateful to 
 Angela for the fact. Her new importance made them each 
 more anxious to gain the greater share of her love and favour, 
 and they vied with each other in spoiling her. After agree- 
 ing cordially with each other that she was a designing young 
 minx, they had each in turn gone privately to congratulate 
 her very sympathetically. Iphigenia had spoken feeUngly of 
 her own dead lover, and made Angela feel like a hypocrite by 
 talking of the pleasure of being loved. 
 
 "I am afraid that you will find Prudence rather bitter 
 about your engagement," she had said confidentially. "I 
 
A CELIBATE'S WIFE 77 
 
 believe that she has had some fooHsh dream about the dear 
 Canon herself, but of course he has never given her the 
 slightest grounds for it, and I think that she ought to be 
 content with one romance in her life as I am, don't you ? " 
 
 Prudence had not shown any bitterness, however, but had 
 talked about the lover who died before he proposed, and 
 suggested dreams of a grand marriage and a beautiful 
 wedding dress. 
 
 " The wedding will be a very quiet one," said Angela, in 
 the cold suppressed tone which always had the effect of 
 keeping her aunts at a distance, " and I shall be married in 
 one of the dresses I have." 
 
 " But, my dear child, on this occasion surely ! " began 
 Prudence, taken aback. " People will think it so queer." 
 
 Her real distress touched the girl's better nature, which lay 
 warm and healthy enough under her marble crust of piety, 
 and she surprised the little lady by kissing her. 
 
 "You must please let me have a quiet wedding, Aunt 
 Prudence. I am sure that Canon Presyllett would wish it, 
 even if I had different views about it myself." 
 
 The old maid's thoughts went off at a tangent. 
 
 " Do you never call your fiance by his christian name, 
 dear?" 
 
 "I do not know what it is," said Angela, the marble 
 crust closing again. It was a pain to her to hear every- 
 body speaking of her spiritual partnership as if it were 
 a common worldly marriage. She took it as a cross borne 
 for the sake of the higher life which lay before her, and 
 closed heart and conscience up in her holiness as a snail 
 closes itself in its shell at the first rough touch. 
 
 Prudence found her cold and unresponsive, and fluttered 
 away to lament with Iphigenia over the girl's unnaturalness. 
 
 Left alone, Angela put on her nun-like cloak and bonnet to 
 go out and visit the sick. 
 
 The Canon's unquestioning faith in her hohness had 
 stirred her to greater efforts, in the fear that she fell 
 short of what he was imagining her. She had found the 
 village too small a field for her efforts, and had extended 
 them to Barnwood, finding satisfaction in the physical 
 
78 A CELIBATE'S WIFE 
 
 fatigue she experienced from the long walk in addition to 
 her visiting. 
 
 It was in Barnwood that she met Gabriel Lyne for the 
 second time. 
 
 In the very lowest slum of the town, she was walking up 
 the rickety staircase of an evil-smelling tenement house, when 
 she found his tall handsome figure blocking her way as 
 he came down. He had stretched out his hand to bar her 
 progress. 
 
 "You must not come up here," he said commandingly. 
 " There are two bad cases of scarlet fever on the first floor." 
 
 " That is why I have come," she said in her calm voice. 
 " I want to see if I can give any help." 
 
 "But the fever, I am told, is of a specially infectious 
 type. I have just been talking to the medical officer who is 
 there now. You would run a great deal of risk for nothing." 
 
 " It would not be for nothing if I could give any help." 
 
 " The doctor is seeing to that. They are going to be 
 moved in an hour or two to the fever hospital. They will 
 get everything they require there." 
 
 " In the way of material things ; but they might like to let 
 me talk with them. One young man is just convalescent, and 
 there are those who have not caught the fever, but may be 
 taken ill and die at any moment." 
 
 " As you may be if you venture there." 
 
 " Please let me pass," she said, with a fearless smile ; for he 
 still barred the way with his arm. 
 
 "The risk is too great. You ought not to be standing 
 here even." 
 
 " I do not consider the risk when my duty calls me 
 anywhere." 
 
 "But duty is just what I am talking about," he said 
 impetuously. "I see you want to do the right thing, but 
 it would be wrong to go up there. Come out into the street, 
 away from this pestilential hole. You ought never to have 
 come here. We will talk about it outside." 
 
 His manner was so commanding that she obeyed almost 
 instinctively. The denial of her duty to place herself in 
 danger had taken away the sense of superior goodness which 
 
A CELIBATE'S WIFE 79 
 
 had given her moral strength to resist him. It was a new 
 sensation to her to be treated like a naughty child. And that 
 sounded to her the tone in which the stranger addressed her 
 when they were out in the sunshine again. 
 
 The interest that he took in her personahty had made 
 him really angry with her for risking it on an errand that 
 seemed to him so useless and unnecessary. 
 
 " It is very wrong of you to come here just on the chance 
 of influencing people who are very likely better than your- 
 self, and, at any rate, have had a great deal more experience 
 than a young girl like you can have had. Putting aside 
 the chance that you will catch the fever yourself and give 
 your friends a tremendous lot of trouble and anxiety over 
 you, why, you may carry the infection with you anywhere. 
 Your friends deserve some consideration, even if they are not 
 poor." 
 
 She flushed at the condemnation in his voice — condemna- 
 tion which cut all the deeper because she had been imagining 
 herself so high above the possibility of human reproach. 
 
 " Before I see my friends I shall have had a long country 
 walk — to Windlehurst," she said, trying to justify herself to 
 this stranger whose very name she did not know. 
 
 " That is nothing," he said, hotly still. " You can carry 
 infection in your clothes for hundreds of miles; and then 
 there are the people you will pass in the street here." 
 
 " I thought that the air would carry away all chance of 
 infection," she said, trying still to excuse herself. 
 
 " You ought to have made sure, have studied the question, 
 before you made yourself so busy in other people's affairs." 
 
 His anger was all against the creed which had made her 
 foolish ignoring of natural results a virtue, but she took it 
 all to herself, and the tears came into her eyes. 
 
 His sternness disappeared at the sight, and a smile brought 
 brightness and tenderness into his face. 
 
 " I know that you were trying to do right," he said sooth- 
 ingly, " and it was very brave of you. But before sacrificing 
 yourself you ought always to consider whether you have a 
 right to sacrifice other people as well. As it happens, there 
 is no need for you to sacrifice anybody at all. The people 
 
8o A CELIBATE'S WIFE 
 
 who are ill are being moved to the hospital, as I said, where 
 they will have every attention." 
 
 "I was thinking more of their spiritual welfare," she 
 said, " although I hoped to relieve some of their temporal 
 needs at the same time." 
 
 "Their clergyman has visited them here, and there is a 
 chaplain at the hospital. Are you afraid that they are 
 neglecting their duties ? " 
 
 "No, but " 
 
 " Well ! promise me that you will not run into such 
 danger again. You ought to have a long life of usefulness 
 before you. You must not shorten it by mistaking fool- 
 hardiness for duty." 
 
 " But you have been running a risk too," she said, smiling 
 up suddenly through glistening eyes as the thought occurred 
 to her. 
 
 The young man gave a short laugh. 
 
 " I did not know about the fever till I was in the place. 
 The foolish people have been hiding it, through fear of the 
 hospital or something. I called to look over the wretched 
 place, to see if I cannot get an order for its condemnation. 
 These houses are a disgrace to the town. The owners will 
 let them hang together as long as they can get a good interest 
 on their money by wringing rent from the poor creatures 
 who die in them. I shall try and move the authorities to 
 prosecute the owner of the place we have just been in. He 
 ought to have pulled it down long ago." 
 
 " But will not prosecution only harden his heart ? Would 
 it not be better to speak to him, and show him the wrong 
 that he is doing ? " 
 
 Gabriel's lip curled a Uttle. 
 
 " I do not think that it would be safe to credit him 
 with a heart, and my speaking would do no good to a man 
 who can remain deaf when the state of the house and the 
 wretchedness of its inmates have cried out so long and 
 so loudly. Life is too short for us to waste any of it 
 attempting impossibilities. All we can hope to do is to 
 make an example of him and frighten the other grasping 
 rookery-owners." 
 
A CELIBATE'S WIFE 8i 
 
 "Who is the man of whom you are speaking?" she asked; 
 and Gabriel shook his head. 
 
 " I have no idea, but it will be easy enough to find out." 
 
 They had reached the end of the miserable street, and he 
 accosted a man in rags lounging outside the public-house at 
 the corner. 
 
 "Can you tell me who owns the big house at the end 
 there ? " he said, pointing ; and the man moved the stump of 
 a clay pipe from his lips. 
 
 "The tall 'un at the end? Yes; I ought to, seein' I've 
 lived there these two years." 
 
 Instinctively Gabriel moved to stand between the man and 
 his companion. He was thinking of the infection. 
 
 " Who is the owner ? " he asked, as the man put back 
 his pipe. 
 
 " A parson. It looks like a parson's place, don't it ? They 
 are always the worst for repairs and the 'ardest for rent. He 
 is a fine and holy fellow this 'un — fine at converting. I on'y 
 wish he'd convert 'isself, and mend the place up a bit. 
 We'd think it more than all 'is preachin' an' prayin' if 'e'd 
 knock sixpence a week off the rent, or put a few slates on 
 the roof where the rain comes in." 
 
 He was running on with his grievances, when Angela 
 spoke. 
 
 " What is his name ? " 
 
 " Presyllett, miss. 'E's the parson at Windlehurst." 
 
 Angela's face flushed. 
 
 "I think that you must be making a mistake," she said 
 impulsively. " I know Canon Presyllett." 
 
 " Can't 'elp that, miss," said the man ; " Canon Presyllett's 
 the owner, an' your knowin' 'im doesn't make him any less 
 of a blamed money-sucker. Why, on'y last week there was 
 a poor woman on the top floor on'y two weeks be'ind with 
 'er rent. Three years she'd paid it regular, and on'y missed 
 through the fever bein' in the 'ouse. Charwoman she was, 
 an' the people wouldn't let 'er come an' work. * Can't pay,' 
 says the parson's agent, * out you go, mum, and can starve 
 in the street for anything I care.' " 
 
 He was warming up to his theme, when Gabriel, noticing 
 
 F 
 
82 A CELIBATE'S WIFE 
 
 the white look on his companion's face, handed the man a 
 shilling and walked on, offering the girl his arm. 
 
 " I suppose the Canon leaves the place too much in the 
 hands of his agent," he said consolingly. " You are his sister, 
 are you not ? " 
 
 " Oh no," she said quickly, surprised by his mistake ; " I 
 am going to be his wife." 
 
 Gabriel started, and his face took the paler cast that hers 
 had done at the revelations she had just heard, but he re- 
 strained the startled incredulous exclamation which forced 
 itself almost to his lips. 
 
 " Under those circumstances," he said, after a long pause, 
 " I will leave the matter of pulling down the house to you. 
 Possibly the Canon has been too much engaged in his work 
 to notice the state that the place is in. If you can persuade 
 him to knock it down and build a serviceable workmen's 
 dwelling, you will do more good than by sacrificing yourself 
 to its fevers. Good-bye." 
 
 They had emerged into one of the chief thoroughfares of 
 the town, and he held out his hand. 
 
 She gave it an honest clasp. 
 
 " Thank you ; good-bye." 
 
 When he had left her, she felt sorry that she had forgotten 
 to ask his name. 
 
t 
 
 CHAPTER IX 
 
 Angela walked along the street quickly, her mind full of 
 thought. There were many people about, and she walked 
 in the road, for fear of spreading infection from the house 
 she had visited. When she came to a chemist's shop empty 
 of customers, she hurried in and inquired for a strong dis- 
 infectant. The man gave her a powder, which she sprinkled 
 over her dress plentifully, and she went out into the street 
 again, smelling like a drug-store. There was no longer need 
 for her to walk in the road; the people she met, glancing at 
 her dress, which was so much like that of a hospital nurse, 
 and smelling the disinfectant, took care to keep yards away 
 from her. 
 
 She scarcely noticed their avoidance of her ; her mind was 
 full of a new and absorbing sensation, a feeling of humilia- 
 tion which she had not experienced since she was a Uttle 
 girl and had been punished for some childish naughtiness. 
 
 Every day of her life she had humiliated herself before 
 God, admitting that she had fallen short of the ideal He 
 placed before her; but to have been tried by the ordinary 
 ideal of the people around her, and found wanting in con- 
 sideration and thought for others, was much more terrible. 
 
 Her humiliation before God had ministered in a way to 
 her unconscious natural conceit; for in confessing her sins 
 to her God, she had been vaguely satisfied by the conscious- 
 ness that only a very sensitive soul would consider them 
 sins at all, and that her self-humiliation was in itself a sign of 
 her spiritual superiority to those around her. 
 
 But there was no such consideration to support her against 
 the stranger's indictment. From a purely worldly stand- 
 point she had been tried and found guilty of a selfish forget- 
 
 83 
 
84 A CELIBATE'S WIFE 
 
 fulness of the safety of others. It was true that her sin 
 had arisen from her spiritual zeal, but the man's scolding 
 had made her zeal appear in a new light to her, and she 
 could not plead it as a justification. 
 
 It was a sign of the true sterhng worth of the character 
 which underlay the girl's Pharisaic piety that she made no 
 attempt to defend herself to her conscience. It never 
 occurred to her to suggest to herself that the man who had 
 spoken to her might have a different standard from herself 
 for deciding right and wrong. 
 
 She had not realised yet that such a thing was possible. 
 When her friends remonstrated with her on wearing an un- 
 pleasing dress and devoting all her time to the poor, she 
 never doubted for a moment that deep in their hearts 
 they realised that what she was doing was right, but that 
 their own self-pleasing ideas had persuaded them that it 
 was unnecessary to do right. That there could be any 
 essential point of difference in different minds as to what 
 was absolutely right, was an unknown thought to her. She 
 had not reached that stage in piety when it is possible to 
 think, as in the Canon's case, that an action can be wrong 
 according to the highest standard of the worldly, and still 
 right in the eyes of God. The world's standard by which 
 it insisted on truth, fairness, and a certain amount of con- 
 sideration for others, was for her true, but insufficient. She 
 fondly imagined that she never offended against it, and looked 
 for a higher ideal of conduct than it gave her. But she 
 did not understand that higher ideal making her indifferent 
 to the lower, and now that in her zeal she had offended 
 against the world's standard, she was overcome with humilia 
 tion. 
 
 If she had succeeded in justifying herself, she would have 
 felt angry with the man who had dared to find fault with her. 
 But in her humiliation she felt a deep gratitude to him, and 
 looked up to him as one wiser and better than herself. 
 
 What a noble face he had — how full of refinement and 
 thought. She hoped that she would meet him again, and 
 receive help from his straightforward criticism of her faults. 
 In her new life she would meet many such men, no doubt, 
 
A CELIBATE'S WIFE 85 
 
 drawn to the Rectory by a sympathy of aim with the Canon ; 
 and the thought threw a pleasing light over the prospect of 
 her anticipated spiritual marriage. 
 
 It took her mind back to the revelation she had received 
 about the man who was soon to be known as her husband, 
 and she grieved over the thoughtlessness which had made 
 him leave the house he owned to agents whose cruelty 
 blackened his name. Her opinion of the Canon's goodness 
 was far too deeply rooted for her to imagine for a moment 
 that he was really aware of his responsibilities. She had 
 received Gabriel Lyne's excuse for him as a perfect expla- 
 nation of the anomaly which had startled her so much at 
 the first hearing, and she did not doubt for a moment that 
 Canon Presyllett needed only to be told of the evil he was 
 doing to amend it. She shared that common weakness of 
 undeveloped minds, a tendency to ascribe to everybody the 
 virtues they claim rather than the virtues which their actions 
 show them to possess. 
 
 The thought that the holy Rector had committed a grave 
 fault through thoughtlessness brought him a little nearer to 
 her own level, and helped her to recover from the blow which 
 her own pride had received. She had recovered her old 
 serenity by the time that she had reached the Rectory gate, 
 and her eyes brightened when she caught sight of the Canon's 
 gaunt figure leaving it. 
 
 He had not noticed her, and she hurried after him as 
 he turned towards the village, the smile dying out of her 
 eyes as her mind involuntarily compared his figure with 
 that of the man who had spoken to her in the fever-stricken 
 house. 
 
 For a moment, when he had caught the sound of her 
 hurrying steps and turned blinking with the sun in his eyes, 
 a feeling of repulsion seized her. His haggard face looked 
 grey and spiritless in the strong light, and she was com- 
 paring it still with that of the stranger. 
 
 But she put away the feeling resolutely. It was the revolt 
 of her worldly nature surely against the grey colouring and 
 want of beauty which, according to her creed, God loved. 
 It seemed to her on a par with the revolt she sometimes felt 
 
86 A CELIBATE'S WIFE 
 
 against the plainness of her dress, of her life, and she put it 
 away as a sin. 
 
 It was easier when he spoke, for the voice brought back 
 the godlike pulpit figure. 
 
 " I am glad to see you, my child," he said gently, and his 
 eyes brightened. Perhaps the sense of satisfaction to which 
 his smile was due was not altogether spiritual. With face 
 flushed by the haste she had used, as well as the thought of 
 the good she was about to do for the poor inmates of the 
 Canon's rookery, she looked very sweet and beautiful as she 
 took his outstretched hand. 
 
 Angela only knew that his face had become more spiritual, 
 and she began impulsively to talk about the house. 
 
 Her natural warm enthusiastic nature broke through the 
 cold calmness which she was always studying to preserve, 
 and she spoke with animation about the wretchedness of the 
 poor inmates — an animation which made her look more 
 beautiful, though less Madonna-like, than she had ever done 
 before in his eyes. 
 
 The thought of the tie which was soon to connect them 
 thrilled him as he glanced at her sparkling face, and the fear 
 lest anything should come between them to prevent it was 
 the chief thought in his mind as he answered her, jumping 
 at the excuse she volunteered for his evil-repute among the 
 inmates. 
 
 The house had been bequeathed to him, he said, by an 
 old lady in his congregation, and he had left it entirely in 
 the hands of a business man, and had never even visited 
 the place. His excuse sounded very plausible to her, un- 
 accustomed as she was to business matters, and she felt 
 proud of his humihty as he went on to thank her for 
 showing him the evil that had arisen from his inexcusable 
 neglect. He was so wrapped up in his spiritual work in 
 the parish that even a glaring neglect of duty like this, which 
 brought his spiritual work into disrepute, sometimes escaped 
 his notice. It showed how necessary she would be to him 
 in his work. 
 
 His deep earnest voice had become low and persuasive as 
 he held up to her eager eyes new hopes of usefulness and 
 
A CELIBATE'S WIFE 87 
 
 devotion; and certain fears of what she was doing, which 
 troubled her when she was alone, disappeared in the glory- 
 haze of the devoted life he painted for her as his spiritual 
 partner. 
 
 One question of conscience had troubled her too much 
 to be forgotten, however. Already she had received the 
 first of her wedding presents, and the gift had come as a 
 cold shock to her, making her feel like a hypocrite. 
 
 She asked him whether she ought to receive them, and 
 her doubts disappeared again before his fluent casuistry. 
 
 They were only offerings of affection. Her marriage was 
 simply an opportunity, not a reason for their presentation. 
 The congratulations with which they were accompanied were 
 only purified by being taken as congratulation on the life 
 of greater devotion on which she was entering. 
 
 " I know that you would not do or let me do anything 
 that is dishonest or wrong," she said, clasping her hands 
 together nervously, "but I cannot help feeling sometimes 
 as if we were deceiving people and acting a lie. I — " (she 
 hesitated, and her face flushed) — " I have been reading the 
 marriage service in the Prayer-Book. I never read or heard 
 it before." 
 
 His face fell at the news. For a moment he felt inclined 
 to tell her that she had done wrong, that she had committed 
 an offence against perfect purity ; but her faith in him depended 
 so greatly on her faith in the Church of which he was a 
 minister, that he put the inclination aside, and set himself 
 to meet her scruples. 
 
 He had long ceased to question whether her scruples 
 were right or wrong. God's leading had shown him that 
 the projected pseudo- marriage was in accordance with His 
 will, and every step necessary to bring it about became 
 justifiable in consequence. He never troubled to think 
 whether the arguments he used were true or false, whether 
 he was giving her a real answer to her doubts or only a 
 skilful pretence of one. His one duty was to see that she 
 did not draw back and prevent him taking the step which 
 was required of him. 
 
 A man always argues best when he does not stop to 
 
88 A CELIBATE'S WIFE 
 
 consider the truth of his arguments, but thinks only of their 
 effectiveness; and the Canon's manner of perfect assurance 
 satisfied her even more than his words. If he had hesitated 
 or considered, Angela might have felt doubts — doubts lest 
 he might be mistaking their duty, as she had mistaken hers 
 in visiting the fever-stricken house; but he spoke as if he 
 were inspired, and she listened to him as to the mouthpiece 
 of God. 
 
 "And what is there in the Prayer-Book service which 
 makes you feel as though we shall deceive people by using 
 it in God's service as a pledge against the flesh ? " he asked, 
 the very intonation of his voice making her a child asking 
 instruction, and not a woman with a right to criticise con- 
 duct which affected herself. 
 
 She had some difficulty in answering. 
 
 " It makes us seem as though we are taking quite a dif- 
 ferent step from what we are really doing," she said awkwardly 
 at last. " I thought that you would let me tell my friends 
 what our marriage really is, but you say that to do so would 
 spoil its usefulness, that they might still look upon us as 
 actually unmarried." 
 
 " Certainly. It is necessary for our pledge that the world 
 should think us bound together by the common earthly tie. 
 All that concerns others is the social result — that we live 
 under one roof, that you take my name, that we pledge 
 ourselves against any other union. The rest is a matter 
 which does not concern them — a matter between our souls 
 and God." 
 
 She was still unsatisfied, as her face and the nervous action 
 of her hands showed, and she walked along the sunlit road 
 silently, trying to find words in which to explain the point 
 that troubled her. 
 
 "There seems so much in the service that will sound 
 like a mockery — a deception," she said at last with evident 
 eifort. " Our reason is so different from " 
 
 " From those given in the Prayer-Book," he said, finishing 
 the sentence as she halted nervously. " There you are wrong, 
 my child. Our reasons are only a higher and more spiritual 
 form of the reasons that the Prayer-Book gives. Marriage, 
 
A CELIBATE'S WIFE 89 
 
 according to the service, is a symbol signifying to us the 
 mystical union that is betwixt Christ and the Church. 
 Which do you think is the truest symbol — our spiritual 
 union for good works, or the mere fleshly union of the 
 world? Our partnership is surely the truest, and therefore 
 the most real, marriage. That the world will not under- 
 stand it, is only a result of its own spiritual blindness. For 
 our partnership the Church has invented no form. We are 
 bound therefore to accept the earthly form which symbolises 
 it. It is necessary only, in reading the words of the Prayer- 
 Book, to give to everything its true spiritual significance. Let 
 us look at the passage which has disturbed you — the causes 
 for which matrimony was ordained. Firstly, it says it is 
 ordained for the procreation of children. Our children 
 will be what St. Paul speaks of as the fruit of the spirit, an 
 added devotion to the work of our Lord, and new labours for 
 Him. Then the second reason for matrimony — as a remedy 
 against sin. Do you not see that the ceremony will mean 
 more to us than to the world, when we enter into it as a 
 pledge not of comparative but of perfect purity? You 
 must try and see these things in their true light, Angela. I 
 know, my dear child, that the thoughtless misconceptions of 
 the world around you must necessarily trouble and harass a 
 soul as pure and unworldly as your own. You must look 
 upon it as a sacrifice made to God in order to achieve 
 His work more perfectly. For the world's blindness you 
 are not responsible. God Himself knows what is in your 
 heart, my child." 
 
 Accustomed as she had been from her youth to accept 
 with complete confidence the utterances of the official 
 exponents of her creed, Angela went away from the inter- 
 view perfectly satisfied after this pastoral lesson in deception ; 
 and she bore with a calm serenity, and sense of superior 
 holiness, the playful hints of the matronly sewing-woman who 
 was hard at work at Lilac Lodge increasing the bride-elect's 
 stock of under-linen, and whose human interest in marriage 
 and maternity exceeded her good taste or piety. 
 
CHAPTER X 
 
 Gabriel Lyne had a profound pity for pious people. Seeing 
 as he did in every fleeting cloud, in every fading flower 
 and decaying leaf, a message from nature that individuality 
 ends with death, there was something painfully pathetic to 
 him in the spectacle of a man sacrificing for the hope of an 
 after-death reward a single ray cf sunshine in the one world 
 of which he has any assurance. It was this keen pity which 
 put venom into his pen when he attacked the bases of the 
 conventional creeds, which seemed to him so irreligious and 
 illogical. 
 
 Religion, as he understood it, was the establishment of 
 a relationship between human action and the Creative 
 Spirit or Mind, for which we all unconsciously formulate 
 some character every time that we perform a reasoning 
 action. 
 
 " Every time that we put a kettle on the fire," he had 
 written in one of his books, " we assume the existence of a 
 memory and a consistency which is neither in the water 
 nor in the fire. Water cannot remember that it boils at a 
 hundred and twelve degrees Fahrenheit, and fire can have- 
 no personal predilection of its own which inclines it to 
 affect the water in my kettle exactly as it treats water every- 
 where else." 
 
 The difference between his creed and Presyllett's lay in 
 the fact that the Canon called this Mind " Nature," and made 
 elaborate excuses for her character not being so good as it 
 ought to be seeing that the superior God had invented her, 
 while Gabriel took it as his conception of Deity, and called 
 it the Creative Mind. To his mind, the assumption of any 
 method for determining human conduct which was incon- 
 
 90 
 
A CELIBATE'S WIFE 91 
 
 sistent with his method of obtaining knowledge about the 
 action of heat and water was to assume the existence of two 
 distinct Creative Minds, and a confession of polytheism. 
 
 " Science is monotheism, and monotheism is religion. 
 What people call religion is polytheism, and polytheism is 
 pagan," he was fond of saying ; and his honest opinion that 
 conventional Christianity is based upon a disguised denial 
 of the Deity's oneness made the hostility with which he 
 opposed it the outcome of a religious zeal. To think it 
 false, and to see his fellow-men sacrificing their happiness 
 in obedience to its laws, filled his mind with a supreme pity. 
 
 The pity had never been so keen in his heart as when he 
 met Angela in the Rectory garden, with her nun-like costume 
 and piously downcast eyes. 
 
 Every emotion in us lies always waiting for contrast. We 
 can feel nothing but differences. Consciously or uncon- 
 sciously to us, it is a contrast always which makes us laugh, 
 which makes us cry — which makes us happy, which makes 
 us sad — which makes us pity, which makes us love. And 
 it was the striking difference between the girl's repressed 
 solemnity and the bright natural joyousness which ought to 
 have come from her youth and beauty and goodness that 
 touched his pity to its depths, and kept the face he had seen 
 only for a few moments vivid in his mind for days. He felt 
 that her creed had offered him a personal injury in suppress- 
 ing the smile which had come for a moment into her eyes 
 as he returned her handkerchief, making him wish to see it 
 always there. It robbed him of the pleasure that he knew 
 it would be to him to see the lovely face beautiful with 
 laughter, to see her graceful figure done justice to by a dress 
 which suited her. It robbed him of the pleasure which 
 her honest eyes and thoughtful face told him that he 
 would enjoy by exchanging real thoughts with her — thoughts 
 which came as unaffectedly from her heart as his own did, 
 with no consideration of the conventional religious mould in 
 which she was schooling herself to think them as a matter 
 of duty. 
 
 As their eyes met he had felt a subtle sense of sympathy 
 with the soul behind hers, which almost persuaded him that for 
 
92 A CELIBATE'S WIFE 
 
 the sake of full confidence in her naked thoughts, and for 
 full enjoyment of her personal beauty, he could be content 
 without effort to renounce all idea of seeing any other woman's 
 mind or body fully unveiled. 
 
 To realise this completely is love, and it had almost come 
 to him in the meeting of their eyes. 
 
 His half-born emotion was not a selfish one. Interwoven 
 with it, with preponderating fibre, was the thought which 
 makes love perfect and divine — the thought that, by offering 
 himself to her, he could give her all she needed to make 
 her life full and complete. He thirsted to lend her his 
 eyes, that she might see the Creative Mind as he saw it, and 
 not as an austere person who prefers grey to Liberty shades, 
 and grave faces to laughter and smiles. 
 
 It is the absence of this hope of helpfulness interwoven 
 with the hope of personal satisfaction which makes human 
 love too often such a paltry thing, almost worthy of the 
 light in which the ascetic regards it. But it was the hope 
 of helpfulness which appealed most to Gabriel Lyne at that 
 first meeting, and enabled him to go away thinking his feeling 
 all pity when it was more than half love. 
 
 In spite of the eagerness he felt to see her again, he 
 made no attempt to do so. The thought that she was a 
 relative of Canon Presyllett's made the chance very remote 
 of his ever meeting her without an insurmountable prejudice 
 on her side ; and the practical difficulties in the way of his 
 establishing a friendship with his Nun made him give him- 
 self up to dreaming instead of action. Superstition is diffi- 
 cult to eradicate from our natures, however strenuously we 
 fight against it ; and the superstition to which we cling most 
 fondly is that which, in some form or other, transforms hope 
 into prophecy. Rationalist as he was, Gabriel allowed him- 
 self to feel that he was fated to meet his Nun again and know 
 her intimately, when the least self-analysis would have shown 
 him that the feeling had no basis except in his desire. He 
 would have blushed to find himself in the same lotus-land 
 as the conventional Christian, who claims a heaven and hell 
 simply because he desires them so earnestly for himself and 
 his enemies. 
 
A CELIBATE'S WIFE ^ 93 
 
 It is always the effect of superstition to drive us into an 
 unhealthy activity or a dreamy torpor, and Gabriel was roused 
 suddenly from his pleasant security to curse the fallacy which 
 had kept him happily inactive while the chance lasted of his 
 ever affecting Angela's mind. 
 
 The dream vanished at her announcenent of the marriage 
 which was to take place between herself and the Rector 
 of Windlehurst — a marriage which promised to render per- 
 manent every wrong and unhealthy idea that her creed 
 contained. 
 
 The meeting in the slum had served to strengthen the 
 spell which her beauty exercised over him, and his hope 
 of being able to influence her and set her free from the 
 trammels of asceticism had been raised by the child-like faith 
 with which she accepted his enunciation of duty. Then, as 
 the future became illuminated by anticipations of further 
 meetings and exchange of ideas, the blow fell. 
 
 Pity was still the chief emotion of which he was conscious — 
 pity and a fierce anger against the creed which could make 
 her in perfect faith hand over her young beautiful Hfe with 
 all its wonderful possibilities to a man she did not love. It 
 was impossible for him to imagine her loving the Canon, with 
 his gaunt figure, his cadaverous face, and pious lack of 
 humanity. He could see the girl's motives almost as clearly 
 as if she had proclaimed them to him. The respect which 
 she had been trained from her youth to feel for the clergy — 
 a respect which would make the Canon's offer of marriage 
 a dazzling honour. The opportunities of good work which 
 she would look forward to enjoying as his wife. He could 
 follow out all her motives without the need of supposing a 
 spark of passion or real affection for the man himself. And 
 her sacrifice of herself, as he called it to himself, became very 
 terrible when he realised in it only a sacrifice to ideas which 
 to him were false and pernicious. 
 
 When he tried to imagine the Canon's motives, he became 
 less just and true in his estimate. 
 
 In a man who had shown himself incapable of realising 
 what love was by describing it always as unclean, he could 
 see no motive for this marriage to a beautiful woman so 
 
94 A CELIBATE'S WIFE 
 
 much younger than himself than a filthy passion or a greed 
 for money. Possibly his Nun would bring her husband a 
 fortune, he thought. 
 
 As a matter of fact, Angela became mistress on her 
 marriage of a considerable income left her by her father; 
 but Gabriel Lyne misjudged the Canon in thinking that the 
 fact affected him to any significant extent. 
 
 The only way in which the money influenced the mar- 
 riage was through Angela, who would have looked at her 
 partnership with the clergyman differently if there had been 
 any question of her becoming pecuniarily dependent upon 
 him. 
 
 The thought of any woman being delivered by her own 
 false ideas of duty as a sacrifice to passion and greed would 
 have been painful to Gabriel Lyne, with his tender sympathy 
 for every weak and helpless thing. 
 
 When the victim was his beautiful Nun, the thought was 
 almost insupportable. The pity of it, the terrible pity of it, 
 when her beautiful honest eyes, too, made him think that 
 she would have seen so easily a greater truth than she held, 
 if it had been shown to her. 
 
 As he watched her figure, graceful in spite of her dress, 
 disappearing along the roadway of the crowded street, he 
 felt an impulse to hasten after her, to argue with her, to 
 show her that the ideas at the basis of her sacrifice were all 
 wrong ones. 
 
 But he restrained the impulse. He was a young man, but 
 he had already learned how limited is the power of argument, 
 how useless all argument is which does not reveal to one's 
 hearer for the first time the deep-seated springs of his own 
 action. 
 
 To do this it is necessary to know one's hearer, and 
 analyse his motives better than he does himself; and he knew 
 very little about the girl he wished to influence — Uttle indeed 
 beyond what her face and her dress had told him in their 
 first meeting. 
 
 And then, if he could influence her, what right had he? 
 It was not as if she were considering the question of becom- 
 ing engaged to Presyllett. Perhaps if he had roused himself 
 
A CELIBATE'S WIFE 95 
 
 from his superstitious sense of security a little earlier, he 
 might have been in time to influence her; but now she was 
 engaged, and it was too late. 
 
 He never claimed for himself any right that he would 
 not concede to others, and, looked at as a general principle, 
 the idea did not appeal to him of anybody trying to part 
 an affianced couple simply because the match appeared to 
 the onlooker as unsuitable and promising unhappiness to 
 either party. Nor did the fact that he had begun to take 
 a personal interest in his Nun justify in his case an action 
 which he would think dishonourable in another. 
 
 He turned away with clenched hands and a white face 
 from watching her disappearing figure. A possibility of hap- 
 piness which had brightened the last week or two of his 
 life more than he had imagined till now, was gone utterly, 
 irretrievably, and all that he could do was to close his mind 
 to the thought of the girl who had interested him so deeply 
 and turn his attention from an alluring impossibility to the 
 things that could be done. 
 
 Other men and women were suffering through adherence 
 to false ideas of duty — why should he give all his thoughts 
 to this one ? After all, what did he know of her ? He had 
 not exchanged a hundred words with her in his life. 
 
 It was an article of his religion that dreaming was wrong, 
 that an emotion was to be avoided unless it could be made 
 an incentive to practical action; and what practical action 
 could he honourably take to save this beautiful but really 
 unknown girl from the fate which she had chosen for her- 
 self, but against which his whole nature revolted ? 
 
 " She must marry him," he said to himself as he turned 
 away, " but oh ! the cruel, horrible pity of it ! " 
 
 His face contracted as with physical pain. 
 
 The agent who collected the rents in Canon Presyllett's 
 rotting tenement-house found him a very ill-tempered person 
 when the young man made his way to his office. 
 
 He had called to make inquiries about the poor char- 
 woman who was to be turned out, and after denouncing 
 with a savageness that was quite new to him the crime of 
 driving a tenant from the fever-stricken house to another 
 
96 A CELIBATE'S WIFE 
 
 part of the town, where she would probably carry the 
 infection with her, and the bad policy of losing a tenant 
 when the fever lessened the chances of another being found, 
 he obtained a promise from the man that the poor woman 
 should be allowed to remain by paying part of her debt. 
 The whole amount was a trifling one unworthy of the 
 rationalist's consideration, but he had conscientious scruples 
 against giving a penny more than was necessary to the 
 rack-renters. 
 
 On his way home to Windlehurst after the transaction was 
 completed, he was overtaken by Gateacre driving alone in his 
 dogcart from town. 
 
 The bluff Squire pulled up and invited him to jump in. 
 
 " I have been wanting to see you, Lyne," he said in his 
 hearty voice. " You have been keeping out of the way lately. 
 Hard at work at the book, I suppose. I was really thinking 
 of calling in at the cottage, but did not want to bother you. 
 There is a little thing troubling me that I should like your 
 opinion on. I do not know how it is, but I always seem 
 wanting your advice. You look at things in such a sound, 
 common-sense light. Jump up." 
 
 Gabriel was holding the horse. It was a spirited one, 
 and Gateacre always forgot his driving when he began to 
 talk. 
 
 " I think that I had better not get up, thanks," he said, 
 smiling. "I accidentally got into a house in Barn wood 
 reeking with fever, and must change my clothes before I sit 
 down with anybody." 
 
 " Stuif, man," said the Squire. " Get up." 
 
 Gabriel smiled, but stood where he was. 
 
 " What was it you wanted to talk about — the reading-room 
 again ? " 
 
 " No ; I am giving that a rest for a month or two. You 
 and Presyllett have muddled me up completely between you. 
 You tell me what is fair. Presyllett wants me to aim at 
 something higher than fairness." 
 
 Gabriel's lip curled. The very mention of the Rector's 
 name had made him feel a physical nausea, and he answered 
 bluntly — 
 
A CELIBATE'S WIFE 97 
 
 *<Your only duty, according to the parson, is to agree 
 with him." 
 
 Gateacre flushed a little. He liked Lyne, but he did 
 not like his contempt of conventional Christianity and its 
 ministers. 
 
 " Presyllett is a better man than I am," he said, ** and looks 
 at things in a loftier light." 
 
 " Then why don't you take his advice altogether ? " asked 
 Gabriel irritably. 
 
 " I can't in this case, because it is about the Rector 
 himself, and I should not if I could. Christianity is a great 
 thing, my boy, as you will see for yourself when you are a 
 little older. We cannot get on without it. We are not all 
 naturally moral like you. But we want common-sense as well, 
 and I mean no harm to Presyllett when I say that you have 
 more than he has." 
 
 "Christianity is necessary to make you do your duty, 
 but you want something else to tell you what your duty 
 is, eh ? " said Gabriel with his unusually bitter laugh. 
 
 "Perhaps so," said the Squire, who always got huffy 
 and uncomfortable when Lyne remotely criticised his 
 creed, "but that does not make Christianity any the less 
 necessary." 
 
 "With your Rector it is the other way on," proceeded 
 Gabriel contemptuously. " His Christianity tells him what 
 his duty is, and his common-sense prevents him doing it. 
 I hear that he is throwing up his ascetic ideas about 
 marriage." 
 
 The Squire's eye brightened. 
 
 " Oh ! you have heard about it. It is just what I was 
 going to talk about." 
 
 " The bride-elect has just been telling me," said Gabriel ; 
 "but I don't see how it concerns us. Nobody asked him 
 to be a celibate. We can't prevent him thinking marriage 
 a sin, or getting married in spite of it." 
 
 " I don't know about that, my boy. Nobody asked him to 
 be a celibate, as you say, but I asked him to get married, and, 
 by Jove, I believe that is why he is doing it." 
 
 " You asked him to marry that poor girl ? " Gabriel stared 
 
 a 
 
98 A CELIBATE'S WIFE 
 
 at him incredulously, his interest fully aroused, in spite of 
 his determination not to argue about Canon Presyllett. 
 
 The Squire dropped his eyes under the incredulous scorn 
 in his friend's. He hastened to excuse himself. 
 
 " No, I simply advised him to marry — said a married 
 clergyman was of more use in the parish ; but I never thought 
 of him choosing anybody but a woman of his own age. It 
 is the thought of the girl which makes me hate to think 
 that I had anything to do with it. It hardly seems fair 
 to her, does it ? For it is as plain as a pikestaff to me that 
 Presyllett has no personal feeling in the affair, and is only 
 taking a wife for the sake of his pastoral duties. An older 
 woman would understand that, and would know what she was 
 doing. But a mere girl ! It hardly seems fair. You have 
 seen her ? " 
 
 " Yes, twice." 
 
 " A nice girl she seems, doesn't she ? Only a little too prim 
 and religious for her age. I suppose that is what makes 
 her like the idea of marrying a clergyman, but it scarcely 
 seems fair to let her tie herself. A girl like that ought to 
 be married for love, as I say to my wife, and not for the 
 good of the parish. I suppose she does not know what 
 love is, and Presyllett is not the man to do much courting. 
 Between you and me, Lyne, I believe the Rector intends to 
 have the girl for a district visitor and all that sort of thing, 
 and nothing else." 
 
 " What do you mean ? " said Lyne. 
 
 "You know. Presyllett is a different sort of man from 
 what we are. We don't see anything wrong in marriage, 
 thank goodness ; but the Rector wants to be holier than an 
 ordinary man." 
 
 " He has changed his opinions apparently ? " 
 
 "I don't know. He had not the day before he asked 
 Miss Gaydon to marry him, and from the way he talks I 
 can't help thinking, although it is a queer thing to say, 
 that he has not now. And then the way he chose 
 the girl — the first person he met after I was telling him 
 that the parish thought he ought to have a wife. He'd 
 never seen her in his life before except in church. Then 
 
A CELIBATE'S WIFE 99 
 
 they never kiss when they meet. I've heard people talk 
 about it, and I've seen it myself when they had no idea 
 that I was in sight. And such a pretty young thing too. 
 I haven't a shadow of doubt the Canon is no more in love 
 with her than you are, and that he means to marry her 
 and keep his holiness all the same — use her as a house- 
 keeper and district visitor. There are not many men who 
 could do it." 
 
 "Or who would wish to, thank goodness," said Gabriel, 
 his mind recoiling from the idea as against something horrible. 
 
 The Squire was too impregnated with the Canon's creed 
 to help seeing something of nobility and heroism in it. He 
 did not say so, however. The expression on Gabriel's face 
 prevented him. 
 
 " And looking at it from the lady's point of view, you don't 
 think the marriage a fair or honest one?" asked the latter, 
 his voice quiet enough. 
 
 "Oh! it is fair enough at present. The girl is as holy 
 as Presyllett himself; thinks it wicked to take a cup of 
 tea with my wife. All she thinks of is sacrificing herself 
 for her soul's sake. What rubs me the wrong way, and 
 makes me feel such a damnable sense of responsibility 
 about her, is her youth. Girls of her age often have 
 that pious fit on them, but it wears off; they fall in love 
 and marry, like a woman should. But she'll find that she 
 can't. I do not think Presyllett ought to have chosen a 
 girl who has no idea what she is sacrificing, who does not 
 know what love is." 
 
 " Well ! have you told him so ? " 
 
 " Yes, but he took a very high tone. It was a matter that 
 he had already decided in prayer. When he talks like that, 
 I can't say anything. There is not the least chance of my 
 influencing Presyllett against the marriage." 
 
 "Then why trouble yourself if you have done all you 
 can?" 
 
 "Because of the girl. I can't help thinking about her, 
 and remembering that I am in a way responsible if she is 
 miserable. I wondered whether we could make her think 
 the matter over again." 
 
loo A CELIBATE'S WIFE 
 
 "We?" 
 
 " Yes. To tell you the truth, I was looking forward to you 
 helping me. I can't talk to the girl. She always makes 
 me feel as if I were a sinner in church, and the wife does 
 not hke her. You come and talk to her to-morrow. She 
 is taking lunch with us. The wife has a meeting of some 
 sort in the morning, and another in the afternoon about 
 parish work. She would not come for anything else; and 
 she has agreed to stay lunch, to save time between the two. 
 It would give you time for a nice quiet chat for an hour 
 after lunch." 
 
 " And I am to persuade her to break off her engagement ? " 
 
 The Squire reddened again at the tone. 
 
 " I do not care if you don't mention it." 
 
 " Then what do you want me to do ? " 
 
 The Squire mopped his face nervously, and decided to 
 put a bold face on the matter. 
 
 " Look here, Lyne. You have seen Miss Gaydon. Don't 
 you like the look of her ? " 
 
 « Yes." 
 
 "Then I wish to goodness you would try and make her 
 like you. She is just the woman to make you an ideal 
 wife. You'd knock the nonsense out of her head, and she 
 would make a Christian of you. Nobody can deny that she 
 is pretty ; and she has money of her own, if that is any con- 
 sideration to you. I said to my wife that you seemed made 
 for each other, before this wretched marriage to Presyllett 
 was dreamed of. Don't interrupt me till I have done. I 
 know that the time is short. She is to marry Presyllett in 
 a fortnight or so; but if you could not make her promise 
 to marry you in that time, you could let her see a Uttle of 
 what love is, and what a real flesh-and-blood man is like, 
 and make her hesitate about sacrificing herself to the Canon. 
 I know it is a queer thing to suggest to anybody, but 
 you are not tied down by any conventional nonsense; 
 you look at the reality of things, and you must see that 
 the girl would have a thousand times more chance of 
 happiness with you than with a saint. Not that I would 
 say anything against Presyllett. But when a girl marries 
 
A CELIBATE'Sl WlW loi 
 
 she wants a husband, not a marblp block- cf piety. . V/hat 
 do you say ? The idea is chivalrous enotlgH' icf appeal ' i6 
 you, isn't it ? " 
 
 He paused, breathless with the haste he had used to get 
 in the whole proposition, which appeared to him a brilliant 
 one, without interruption. 
 
 Gabriel tried to smile, but his face was white and drawn. 
 
 "There is only one thing to say to your plan. Squire," 
 he answered j " Miss Gaydon is already engaged." 
 
CHAPTER XI 
 
 " I NEVER knew Lyne in a bad temper before. I suppose he 
 is working too hard," said the Squire to himself, as he drove 
 away, leaving Gabriel to walk slowly homeward alone. " I 
 shall give up bothering with other people's affairs. I have 
 put everything wrong, and now I have made Lyne think 
 badly of me by trying to put it right again. I wish he could 
 take a little more interest in the girl, but I suppose he can 
 think of nothing but his book." 
 
 Poor Gabriel was not thinking of his book, although he 
 tried hard. He was finding that argument is as useless 
 directed against oneself as against others. He had told him- 
 self quite clearly that his commiseration for the ascetic's 
 bride was a perfectly useless feeling ; that he must take from 
 it a warning against superstitious ease, and an added in- 
 centive in his struggle against the conventional creeds ; and 
 having thus directed his emotion into the only channel in 
 which it could be of the slightest use to anybody, cease to 
 feel it. Then, when he had realised his duty clearly, he had 
 discovered that the emotion had ceased to be a purely mental 
 one in which it was possible to cope with it; that it had 
 conquered all his senses like an illness, given him a physical 
 nausea, clouded his eyes and taken the beauty out of the 
 sunshine, dulled his wits and thrown a black and unpleasing 
 cast over every thought that had ever interested him. There 
 was no pleasure in walking, although he had always felt it 
 a keen one; his book did not seem worth thinking about, 
 although it had been absorbing all his energies until his 
 meeting with his Nun, and had not ceased to employ his 
 mind after it. 
 
 "Nothing seems particularly worth doing," he said to 
 
A CELIBATE'S WIFE 103 
 
 himself, and almost as he thought it, a light came into his 
 listless eye, and his step, which had been languid and spirit- 
 less, quickened, for he thought he had caught sight of a grey 
 cloak and Quaker-like bonnet farther along the road. 
 
 But it was only an illusion of desire. The cloak belonged 
 to an old market-woman, and he could have laughed at the 
 contrast which she presented to the figure he had momen- 
 tarily conjured out of her oudine, if he had not been too 
 dispirited to smile at anything in heaven or earth. 
 
 His step lost its momentary vitality again, and he walked 
 along the country road with a languor which was strangely 
 in contrast with his usual quick stride. He only hastened 
 his step as he passed the Rectory, for the sight of the place 
 instinctively increased the sickness he felt. 
 
 " Have I caught the fever, and is this dulness and sickness 
 the first symptom ? " he asked himself; but it did not seem 
 to him of very great importance whether he had or not. It 
 would be a hardship to the old woman who kept house for 
 him. She was nervous, and unused to nursing, and he 
 decided mechanically that if he were ill he would have to 
 send for a trained nurse. Personally the illness would not 
 affect him. A few hours before he would have fought against 
 the idea fiercely, as a bar to his work. He would have told 
 himself that he could not, must not be ill until his book was 
 in the hands of the publisher. But this afternoon his book 
 had lost all importance in his eyes. 
 
 He tried to rouse his interest in it as a means of shaking 
 off the feeling which oppressed him, but the feeling seemed 
 too little connected with thought to be affected by a mental 
 resolve. His philosophical method of sweeping away a 
 trouble was as useless against it as against the depression 
 of a bilious attack. 
 
 It was only when he thought of his literary work in 
 connection with his Nun that it gave him the least interest. 
 Would she ever read it, and would it ever influence her if 
 she did ? 
 
 A man like Presyllett would remain unaffected by it, he 
 knew, because he would read it only to compare it with the 
 beliefs he held himself, to decide its truth simply by the 
 
104 A CELIBATE'S WIFE 
 
 degree with which it agreed with his own tenets. Gabriel 
 knew what the attitude was, because he was always 
 struggling against it himself when he read the works of his 
 opponents. 
 
 But his Nun, with her honest, fearless eyes — surely the 
 desire to know what was true was stronger in her heart still 
 than the opposing desire to know that what she believed was 
 true. The one is a rehgious passion based on faith in the 
 God of truth, the other pure selfishness. 
 
 But if the girl ever saw his book, and read it with clear 
 eyes, the religion in her not yet killed by her devotion 
 to conventional Christianity, what good would it do? It 
 would be too late to save her from this horrible marriage, 
 and after the marriage enlightenment for her was fearful to 
 think of. 
 
 His step quickened, and the cloud of gloom lifted a little 
 from his spirits as he busied himself in the new problem which 
 had suggested itself to his mind. He had been right in think- 
 ing that thought was the antidote to his wretchedness. He 
 had not realised that it must be thought connected with Canon 
 Presyllett's future wife. 
 
 He did not analyse the change in his mood. ' The thought 
 engrossed him. Would it be better for his Nun to retain 
 after her marriage the opinions and thoughts which had 
 driven her into it, even if they were false ones ? 
 
 With his keen sympathy and power of throwing himself 
 into another person's position, he shuddered to think of the 
 wife's awakening. 
 
 He was sure that the only tie which bound her to 
 Presyllett was his supposed holiness. What would her 
 feeling be if she saw that holiness with Gabriel's eyes — as 
 little more than a morbid egotism, which made self-approba- 
 tion and the intoxication of emotional excess more enjoyable 
 to him than the healthy delights of living ? 
 
 The armour with which the mind protects itself from 
 ideas which would wreck its peace, is forged only by the 
 daily actions and thoughts of many years. It is not made 
 by a single action, like that of her marriage to Presyllett. 
 She had only nineteen years to look back upon, and her 
 
A CELIBATE'S WIFE 105 
 
 mind was unformed, unhardened to its mould. Her mar- 
 riage would make the new truth disastrous to her peace, but 
 it would not prevent her receiving it. For her the merciful 
 provision of nature was at fault. 
 
 As far as he could see, the Canon's wife, once married, 
 would be utterly and hopelessly miserable if her faith in a 
 false creed were shaken; but the keen pain that he felt 
 in his sympathetic realisation of her misery seemed to 
 him only a temptation of selfishness, the illusion of near- 
 ness which is for ever opposing real knowledge, just as the 
 apparent flatness of the earth, when we take a limited view of 
 it, is always making us forget its actual rotundity. 
 
 Was he not doubting his principle that it is always best 
 to know truth simply because this one woman interested 
 him so much more than any other, through that selfish 
 tenderness for certain cases which is the one foe to right- 
 doing ? Suppose his Nun remained a Nun, and was happier 
 herself for doing so, what unhappiness to others might she 
 not cause; what other women's happiness might not be 
 clouded by her teaching and example ? It might lead to other 
 enthusiastic girls sacrificing themselves to loveless marriages 
 through a false idea that love is not holy. 
 
 He could not have struggled over the question more if 
 Angela Gaydon had been waiting for his decision whether 
 she was to remain a Calvinistic Christian or hold his own 
 views after her marriage to the Canon. 
 
 As he neared his home, the old-fashioned cottage where 
 he had settled down for literary quiet on the outskirts 
 of the village, he roused himself with a sudden sense of 
 great relief to the fact that the question was only an 
 abstract one. 
 
 " Thank goodness," he said to himself, " there is no call for 
 me to hasten her enlightenment." 
 
 In his tenderness for her, he congratulated himself on 
 the slightness of the chance that she should ever read his 
 book. There was nothing in Gabriel Lyne's religion to make 
 him a busybody, and he felt devoutly thankful for the fact. 
 But with the reahsation that no thought or action of his 
 was practically to affect the Canon's future wife, thought 
 
io6 A CELIBATE'S WIFE 
 
 became distasteful again, and his languid lack of interest 
 in everything returned. Mechanically he changed his sus- 
 pected clothes, and hung out in the sunny garden with 
 his own hand every article that he had worn in the fever- 
 stricken house. 
 
 Then mechanically he seated himself at his desk and 
 began to write. With a grand effort of will-force he finished 
 a sheet, and leaned back in his chair to read it. It was 
 simply abuse of the ideas whose falseness he had been 
 previously trying to show with a masterly delicacy, and he 
 tore the sheet up. 
 
 " Great Heavens ! I am like one of themselves, simply 
 denouncing what I don't think true, just as if it mattered to 
 anybody what I like or dislike," and he threw the fragments 
 into the paper-basket. 
 
 Then he took a fresh sheet and tried to think, but his 
 pen began to sketch instead, and almost of its own volition 
 put a beautiful Madonna-like face, under a Quaker-like little 
 bonnet, on the paper. 
 
 Gabriel tore that up also and threw it into the paper- 
 basket, and then, seeing half the face looking out of it, took 
 it up again and burnt it. 
 
 After walking restlessly up and down the room for ten 
 minutes trying in vain to resume the train of his argument, 
 he put on his hat. He could not possibly work. He must 
 take a walk into the village. The Squire had given him 
 his Nun's name. Miss Gaydon. No doubt she was a relative 
 of the two maiden ladies who lived at Lilac Lodge, and if 
 he passed the house 
 
 He pulled himself up, as he read his thoughts. 
 
 What possible use could it be to either of them for him 
 to see her ? What a weak fool he was becoming. 
 
 He took off his coat, and went out into the garden to dig. 
 
CHAPTER XII 
 
 Gabriel Lyne was in the habit of digging when Canon 
 Presyllett would have prayed, and up to the present had 
 found it more efficacious, if we judge his conduct from a 
 purely worldly standpoint of morality. But in the present 
 case digging proved useless, and after spending a whole day 
 and a half in hard work at his garden, the constant inclina- 
 tion to make some excuse to himself for strolling round the 
 village in the direction of Lilac Lodge, of helping the poor 
 in the place, or visiting the Hall, where he knew that his 
 Nun was sometimes to be found, only became stronger than 
 ever. Canon Presyllett would have prayed more fervently. 
 Lyne went up to town for a fortnight, gave a lecture at 
 South Place, saw his publisher, and wrote a couple of 
 magazine stories. His character owed its strength to the 
 fact that he admitted its weakness, and, instead of awaiting 
 with false courage a downright struggle between right and 
 wrong, ran away at the first temptation to a foolishness, and 
 saved himself from moral effort by mechanical means. Pos- 
 sibly his method was due to an absence of all glorification 
 in moral triumph. For the sake of his own true permanent 
 welfare certain things were to be avoided, and he always 
 took the easiest means of avoiding them, without the least 
 thought of claiming credit to himself for doing so. 
 
 If Canon Presyllett had found his interest increasing in 
 another man's sweetheart or wife, he would have let himself 
 drift until his thoughts became actually sinful ones, and then 
 have luxuriated in the holiness of resisting them — unless they 
 had become too strong for him to do so. Lyne had no taste 
 for the desperate moral struggles which ministered to the 
 ascetic's love of emotional excess, and when he realised that 
 
io8 A CELIBATE'S WIFE 
 
 his interest in his Nun was greater than any he could take 
 in a married woman, and that he had no honourable motive 
 for preventing her approaching marriage, he did not dilly- 
 dally with his emotion. 
 
 His only temptation to do so lay in the fact that the 
 marriage had not *taken place yet. His restlessness was 
 due to the hundred hopes and arguments, which he knew 
 were false ones, yet which insisted on filling his mind — the 
 hope that something might happen to prevent the wedding, 
 the arguments which suggested that in this particular case 
 it w^as permissible for a man to come between a woman 
 and her promised husband, and try to steal her away 
 from him. 
 
 When the marriage had actually taken place he would 
 feel no temptation. The inevitable may crush us, but it 
 does not keep us in a ferment. He knew that it would 
 not crush him even. 
 
 He had none of that reverence for emotion which v/ould 
 have prevented him measuring his passion for the girl who 
 had attracted him, and admitting to himself that after their 
 two meetings it could not be strong enough to affect his 
 life or action very seriously; that with the knowledge of her 
 marriage he could get it out of his mind. 
 
 It was not as though he would ever meet her again on 
 a friendly footing. The Canon would blacken his character 
 to her too much for that. There would be no opportunity 
 of friendly converse between the Infidel of Windlehurst and 
 the wife of its Rector. Gabriel, although he rebelled against 
 the fact, was glad of it in his heart, for it saved him from 
 the necessity of considering whether he was wise in returning 
 to Windlehurst even after the marriage. He had learnt to 
 like the place, and imagined that he did his best work in 
 it, and he was genuinely fond of Gateacre. It was a relief 
 to think that his reputation would preserve him from the 
 danger of Mrs. Presyllett's friendship more effectually than 
 two hundred miles of railway line. 
 
 After his fortnight's change of scene and occupation the 
 young man went back to his book, master of himself, and 
 with energy enough to make up for lost time and get his 
 
A CELIBATE'S WIFE 109 
 
 volume ready in time for the impatient publisher. A passion 
 roused by two glimpses of a woman's face must be fed 
 well on imagination to thrive, and Gabriel resolutely starved 
 his. 
 
 The first thing that he saw when he entered the village 
 was a triumphal arch, which the congregation had insisted 
 on erecting over the street as a sign of rejoicing for the 
 Rector's wedding. The flowers which had made a brave 
 show when the wedding carriage passed underneath, were 
 withered now, and the paper trimmings looked very miser- 
 able after two nights of rain. But the wooden framework 
 had cost too much to be pulled down yet, and was to 
 be trimmed up again when the happy pair returned from 
 their honeymoon. 
 
 Angela had objected to the honeymoon, as she had 
 objected to the triumphal arch and to the white dress 
 which her aunts with protestations and prayers had driven 
 her to wear for the ceremony. Her objections had been 
 overruled by the Canon, on the ground that it was neces- 
 sary for their marriage to be in all respects an ordinary 
 one in the eyes of the world. They were going through 
 the ceremony for a special purpose, for the sake of their 
 usefulness and spiritual freedom, and must go through it 
 completely, or the world might refuse to recognise the 
 pledge they had taken, might still expect either of them to 
 fall in love like a worldly person if they admitted that there 
 was no earthly love in their partnership. That was his 
 excuse to her, on the honeymoon journey, for the fact that 
 he had kissed her in the vestry immediately after the 
 ceremony. As far as he understood or admitted to him- 
 self his motives, it was the true one. 
 
 The dress she had worn was a simple one of nun's- 
 veiling, although Prudence had pleaded hard for silk, and 
 Iphigenia for satin. Its simplicity suited her, and she had 
 looked very sweet and beautiful in it, though almost too 
 spirituelle for a bride, as certain envious old maids in the 
 parish suggested, for want of anything worse to say. 
 
 They were talking about it at the Hall when Gabriel 
 called there in the evening. 
 
no A CELIBATE'S WIFE 
 
 "Really I quite fell in love with her," said Mrs. Gate- 
 acre enthusiastically, "such a child she looked. It is a 
 pity she is so unnaturally good. Did you notice, John, 
 how she started when the bridegroom kissed her after the 
 ceremony? She seemed quite shocked." 
 
 The Squire and Gabriel glanced at one another, but did 
 not speak, and the matron ran on. 
 
 "Of course she is very young, and I have not the least 
 doubt that she will turn into a very nice sensible woman in 
 time. She only wants her ' unco-guidness,' as the Scotch 
 call it, to wear off a little." 
 
 " Let us hope that it will not," said Gabriel gravely ; and 
 the good lady opened her eyes. 
 
 " It is funny to hear you say that, Mr. Lyne. I thought 
 you wanted everybody to " 
 
 She paused for an expression, and the Squire supplied it, 
 with a twinkle in his eye — 
 
 " To be as bad as himself." 
 
 Mrs. Gateacre laughed. 
 
 " I do not think that is very bad," she said, with that 
 kind lenience which the professed Christian of to-day would 
 show to the Antichrist himself so long as he was gentle- 
 manly and could be trusted with the daughter and the silver 
 spoons of the house. " But I thought you were anxious 
 for everybody to give up the observances of religion, Mr. 
 Lyne?" 
 
 " I was thinking that in Mrs. Presyllett's case any change 
 of creed would place her hopelessly at variance with her 
 husband." 
 
 They had noticed that his face was a little paler and 
 graver to-night than it had been when they saw it last, and 
 it had grown even graver at the mention of the Canon's 
 marriage, but he gave no other sign of a personal interest 
 in it ; and the ease with which he found that he could speak 
 now of Mrs. Presyllett persuaded him that he had succeeded 
 in making his sympathy for her a purely intellectual emotion, 
 like the sympathy he felt for the heroines of his own stories, 
 whose fate affected him without making him dream of desir- 
 ing that they were alive to take part in his own actual life. 
 
A CELIBATE'S WIFE iii 
 
 There is a calm region in the human mind devoted to the 
 unattainable, and a man's morality depends upon the success 
 with which he can lock in its emotionless and ambition-proof 
 recesses the thought of other people's peculiar property. 
 Gabriel Lyne had been accustomed to keep the thought of 
 other men's wives there, and the force of association was 
 sufficient to give his Nun admission directly the marriage with 
 Presyllett was an accomplished fact. He spoke of her now 
 as of a person in a story. 
 
 Mrs. Gateacre welcomed an argument with him. 
 
 "You think that complete agreement of opinions is 
 necessary to married happiness, Mr. Lyne. I do not think 
 that it matters very much except in novels. In my idea, 
 everybody believes at heart very much the same thing, and 
 the only difference is the way in which they word it to them- 
 selves. If a man and his wife begin to word it differently, the 
 only result is that they don't talk so much. It is a pity, of 
 course, but talk is after all only an interesting game, and 
 anybody can do without it, just as a girl can do without 
 tennis or dancing when she marries a lame man." 
 
 " But if we alter our ideas, it must change all our actions 
 surely ? " said Gabriel ; and Mrs. Gateacre shook her head. 
 
 " I don't think it does, except in the case of an extra- 
 ordinary person like yourself." 
 
 " But I am not extraordinary," said Gabriel, laughing. 
 His interest in the game of words, as Mrs. Gateacre called 
 it, had made him forget for a moment the subject, just as one 
 may become too interested in a game of whist to remember 
 the sixpenny stake for which one is supposed to be striving. 
 
 " Oh ! but you are very extraordinary," protested the 
 matron, with a smile in her eyes, "and I think that you 
 form a wrong estimate of other people through imagining 
 that they are all like yourself. You know the reason why 
 you do everything, but ninety-nine people in a hundred 
 have no idea of the motive which makes them perform a 
 single action. They don't look for one, and have no more 
 power of finding one if they did than the tree has of finding 
 out why it grows. You act, or think you act, in obedience 
 to your thoughts ; everybody else acts by instinct, and they 
 
112 A CELIBATE'S WIFE 
 
 can think whatever they Uke without altering their actions 
 one iota. As a matter of fact, if you will forgive my saying 
 so, and allow me to contradict myself, I think you are like 
 other people, and that your opinions do not direct you half 
 as much as you think they do. As far as I can understand 
 your opinions — and I confess that I can't make head or tail 
 of the book you lent John — it seems to me that you ought 
 to think of nothing but pleasing yourself, and claim to 
 have no motive for doing a single good or self-sacrificing 
 action. If I thought your opinions had anything to do 
 with your actions, I should be frightened of seeing you in 
 the house; but I know that your instincts rule you like 
 those of everybody else, and that your instincts are those 
 of a good man " 
 
 "And a thoroughly nice sensible fellow," broke in the 
 Squire, as his wife paused with that involuntary delicacy 
 which prevents us praising a person to his face. Gateacre 
 had been gazing with admiration at his wife's animated face. 
 He lacked in some way the stimulus which made her talk, 
 as she talked naturally to Lyne. He did not agree with 
 the gist of her argument any more than Gabriel did. The 
 dependence upon instinct would have stultified the deep 
 thoughts by which he was for ever trying to decide what 
 his duty was in the parish, but he could not have put his 
 disagreement into words, and if he had been alone with her, 
 her eloquence would have failed for want of opposition, just 
 as the fen water becomes flat and forceless for want of resist- 
 ing banks. But he loved to hear her talk like this. He was 
 the lame man watching his wife dance with another partner, 
 and rejoicing in her grace. 
 
 "That is what I always say," he went on, pleased to 
 agree with her on one point. " Lyne is a Christian with- 
 out knowing it." 
 
 Gabriel laughed. 
 
 " I admit that I act from instinct, but my opinions are 
 the result of an attempt on my part to examine and compare 
 my instincts, to put them into thought for the sake of adjust- 
 ing them and finding for them a logical basis." 
 
 "I am afraid that is beyond me," said Mrs. Gateacre, 
 
A CELIBATE'S WIFE .113 
 
 with a touch of affected indolence. "Now you are talking 
 like your book, Mr. Lyne." 
 
 " I am afraid that I was quoting from it unconsciously, 
 which is not fair. Here is an instance of what I mean. I 
 feel the instinct of self-preservation and obey it, but it is 
 impossible for me to do so and admit at the same time 
 that I am doing a foolish thing, as Canon Presyllett admits 
 it; that I am taking trouble to retain an unpleasant and 
 unsatisfactory existence, when by taking none I could be 
 admitted at once to a perfect existence. I therefore deny 
 existence after death. In every case where my instinct and 
 my creed clash, I either disobey the instinct or change my 
 creed. The result is that my creed, whether right or wrong, 
 is at one with my life." 
 
 " That is a delicious attitude. I wish I could adopt it," 
 laughed the lady. "You do whatever you like, and then 
 decide that it is right because you do it." 
 
 Her amusement was catching, and the Squire and Gabriel 
 joined in it. 
 
 " I am afraid you are enunciating the attitude of a good 
 many people, professed Christians and others, Mrs. Gateacre. 
 But it is not my attitude. When an instinct like that of 
 self-preservation appeals to me conclusively, I justify it by 
 a principle; and the worst of a principle is that it will not 
 change, however awkward it becomes in special cases. The 
 principle which lets me send for the doctor when I am ill, 
 without admitting myself an illogical fool, also prevents me 
 taking two glasses of champagne at supper, or of indulging 
 in any other excess that might lessen my length of life by 
 an instant, without admitting that I am an illogical fool 
 after all. So you see, madam, that by reading the law of 
 the Creator — or of Nature if you like — from my instincts 
 instead of from a collection of Hebrew manuscripts, I still 
 find some injunction to restraint." 
 
 "Yes, I can understand you taking care of your health, 
 but how about the sacrifices you make for others ? " 
 
 " I trust I make none which are foolish. I do not admit 
 the assertion or inference of Christianity that the perfectly 
 selfish man is the happiest man, or gets most satisfaction to 
 
 H 
 
114 A CELIBATE'S WIFE 
 
 his instincts, as we are calling them, even in a life which has 
 no appendix. The desire for love, friendship, and respect are 
 as much instincts — are they not? — as the desire for health; 
 and it is as logical and sensible to make sacrifices of the im- 
 mediate impulses in order to satisfy the desire for friendship, 
 as to satisfy the desire for health." 
 
 The Squire was becoming rather restive, as he always did 
 when his friend approached the subject of his creed. 
 
 " That is all very well for you, my boy," he put in quickly 
 at the first opportunity. "As Rachel says, you have been 
 born with the instincts of a Christian; but I know that I 
 should be a worse man than I am if I had nothing to think 
 of but my instincts, and so would the rest of the world. 
 The great majority of people could not get on without 
 Christianity." 
 
 "John is always afraid that you will convert me to your 
 views," said Mrs. Gateacre, smiling. " He only let me read 
 your book because he knew I should not understand it. 
 But I do not think that there is much fear. It is all very 
 well for you, a young man without connections, and with 
 a literary reputation to support you, to declare yourself an 
 infidel ; but it would not do for me." 
 
 " Even if you were one ? " 
 
 "Yes, even if I were one. I should not give up 
 Christianity whatever opinions I had. It would cause a 
 scandal; it would not be respectable. It is very shocking 
 of me, I know; but, you see, I follow my instincts, not 
 my opinions, which brings us back to our starting-point, I 
 believe." 
 
 " Yes, we were talking about Mrs. Presyllett," said Gabriel, 
 pitying the look of anxiety on his host's face. " You were 
 saying that a change in her religious views would not be 
 disastrous to her married happiness." 
 
 " I meant if her religious fanaticism wore off and left her 
 the human lovable woman that I think she will become in 
 time. It is fanaticism, of course, to wear that bonnet and 
 object to a tea-party or tennis on principle. If she ex- 
 changed her religious fanaticism for a fanaticism the other 
 way " 
 
A CELIBATE'S WIFE 115 
 
 "Like mine," suggested Qabriel, with the ready twinkle 
 in* his eye. 
 
 " If you like. Then of course there would be ' ructions ' 
 with the Canon. But it is very seldom a woman gets 
 enthusiastic over logic. A woman will sacrifice everything 
 for a person — for Jesus, for instance. She will sacrifice 
 nothing for an idea, as you will. There is always a man 
 at the back of her ideas, to personify them when she becomes 
 enthusiastic about them. I am hoping that Mrs. Presyllett 
 will tone' down and become human. . It would be nice for 
 us, and would hurt nobody. The Canon would notice 
 nothing. If she ceased to visit the poor as a matter of 
 conscience, she would visit them through natural kindness 
 of heart and because it is expected of a clergyman's wife; 
 but she would spare a little time then to come and take 
 tea with me. If she ceased to go to church for holiness 
 she would go for custom, and the result would be the same, 
 except that she would chat with people in the porch instead 
 of looking like a statue of the Madonna all the while. I do 
 not think that the Canon would feel anything but pleasure 
 in his heart of hearts if he found her putting a few flowers 
 in her bonnet and adopting a prettier dress. That is the 
 change that I am looking forward to, and it is the change 
 which I have seen taking place in all the * unco-guid ' people 
 I have known. They don't bother about principles; they 
 become nicer naturally. Wait till she has children of her 
 own. I have never known a woman yet whose religious scruples 
 against bright colours were stronger than her desire to make 
 her baby look pretty." 
 
 The Squire and Gabriel glanced at one another again; 
 Mrs. Gateacre caught the look and understood it. 
 
 " John has been trying to make you share his absurd idea 
 about the marriage," she said, colouring a little in spite of her 
 years and maternity, " but that is all rubbish. John has been 
 idealising the Canon because he has dry bread and water for 
 supper; but I do not beheve in ideal people. I think that 
 we are all very much alike ; and John's idea would make our 
 friends at the Rectory very different from other people, wouldn't 
 it ? John and I have a wager that in a year's time " 
 
ii6 A CELIBATE'S WIFE 
 
 "But that does not concern Lyne," put in the Squire 
 hastily. A man is always more reticent than a woman 
 on certain subjects, because in a man's mind alone they 
 are inseparably associated with impure jests and levity. A 
 woman can speak without shame, because she has never 
 spoken except seriously. That is why we have the amusing 
 spectacle to-day of impure men being shocked by the novels 
 of pure women. 
 
 Gabriel Lyne was almost as pure-minded as a woman, but 
 he pitied the uneasiness of his host, and turned into another 
 pathway of the debate. 
 
 "The real reason that I thought a change of creed 
 or the least loss of her present creed on Mrs. Presyllett's 
 part would be deplorable is this. It must change her esti- 
 mate of her husband. If she comes to think that eating 
 dry bread and water for supper is foolish, then the Canon 
 must appear rather foolish, and she will wake to find herself 
 bound for life to a fanatic, instead of the ideal of hoHness 
 she married." 
 
 Mrs. Gateacre laughed. 
 
 " She will only be like every other woman who has ever 
 married. I do not think there is one of them who loves 
 her husband for the same reason which induced her to 
 marry him. We all think our lovers an ideal of something 
 or other, and by the time that we have found out that 
 they are ordinary men, discover that we love them all the 
 more because they are ordinary men and our husbands. 
 It always amuses me to compare my dear old boy with 
 the animated waxwork model of a Radical reformer that I 
 thought I was marrying. Women admire ideal men suffi- 
 ciently to marry them, but I don't think they really love 
 them until they have found out their faults. By the time 
 that Mrs. Presyllett has lost her respect for saints, she 
 will have found her particular one surreptitiously putting 
 butter on his supper-bread, or being led astray by a par- 
 tiality for oysters or something, and will thank Heaven that 
 she has a man to spoil, to scold, and to help, instead of 
 an image in a glass-case to worship. John has been prov- 
 ing to me quite conclusively that the Rector's wife will 
 
A CELIBATE'S WIFE 117 
 
 be miserable, and that it was our duty to prevent her 
 marrying him. As a matter of logic he is quite right : she 
 has married him in a spirit of fanaticism which will wear 
 off, and he is marrying her in the idea that her fanaticism is 
 not a girlish phase of character, but something permanent. 
 Logically the union ought to be disastrous, and we ought 
 to have moved heaven and earth, as John wanted to do, 
 to prevent it; but I do not trust logic myself. As I said, 
 I follow my instincts, and my instincts made me mind my 
 own business as usual, while my experience told me that the 
 Rector and his wife will settle down to a very comfortable 
 married life, in spite of logic." 
 
 " I hope that they will," said Lyne gravely, and his heart 
 was with his words. 
 
CHAPTER XIII 
 
 The two Tomtits walked through the village street with more 
 sedateness even than usual, feeling that the eyes of the world 
 were upon them. For they wore the dresses which they 
 had had made alike for the wedding, and everybody must 
 know that they were on their way to the Rectory to make 
 the place look home-like for the return of the newly married 
 pair. Each carried a large bunch of garden flowers rather 
 ostentatiously, for the flowers must suggest their purpose. 
 Miss Prudence carried hers a little more ostentatiously than 
 her sister, for she thought that it was the larger of the two. 
 
 Along the deserted road they had been arguing fiercely 
 as to their mode of procedure when they reached the house. 
 Prudence wanted them to concentrate their forces ; Iphigenia, 
 who had a pet scheme for the arrangement of her flowers, 
 wished to concentrate her attention on the hall and leave the 
 rest of the house to her sister. 
 
 A question of such seriousness could not be decided, of 
 course, in ten minutes, but it was tacitly abandoned as soon 
 as the first house came in sight. The Tomtits never argued 
 seriously in public. 
 
 Conscious of their importance and superiority to the rest 
 of womankind on the day of their niece's return, the little 
 women sailed along with hearts and faces full of a conde- 
 scending amiability. They even crossed the road to speak 
 to a passing lady of their acquaintance whom on ordinary 
 occasions they would have passed on the same side with 
 a barely perceptible nod. 
 
 " How do you do ? " said Prudence, making a show of 
 difficulty in holding her flowers in one hand while she ex- 
 tended the other. 
 
 ii8 
 
A CELIBATE'S WIFE 119 
 
 "A beautiful day for their return, is it not?" said Iphi- 
 genia ; and then they both chirruped out together, " We are 
 taking a few flowers — " and each stopped, angry with the 
 other for having shown her pride so plainly. 
 
 " To trim the arch ? " said their friend. " There will cer- 
 tainly be room for them. It looks all paper at present." 
 
 The Tomtits were sorry that they had stopped. 
 
 " We are taking these to decorate the home a little," said 
 Prudence stiffly. 
 
 "Adrian is so fond of flowers," said Iphigenia, proudly 
 emphasising her right to use the Canon's christian name, 
 although she had never ventured yet to address him by it. 
 
 The Gateacres' victoria came by driving rapidly, and they 
 stopped it as if they had news of the utmost importance to 
 convey to its occupant. 
 
 Mrs. Gateacre, who sat there alone, was rather surprised to 
 find them with nothing more important to remark than that 
 the day was a pleasant one for their niece's return, and 
 that they were on their way to the Rectory to make pre- 
 parations for the home-coming. 
 
 "Poor little Tomtits," she said when she had left them, 
 " it is a pity, as John says, that the Canon did not marry 
 one of them instead of their niece. But then, it would 
 have been cruel to the other one. I wonder if they would 
 not both have found husbands if they had only been less 
 alike." 
 
 The old maids went on their way rejoicing, and did 
 not resume their wrangle about the decorations until the 
 gate of the Rectory garden had closed behind them. 
 
 " I don't care what you are going to do," said Iphigenia 
 aggressively, "I am going to make the hall look nice for 
 them." 
 
 " So am I," said Prudence, with quiet determination. 
 
 " Very well ! I will leave it to you, and look after the 
 other rooms." 
 
 " I shall look after them too," said Prudence. " I really 
 don't see why I should be warned off* any part of the house." 
 
 " How absurd you are, Prudence ! You know that we share 
 everything at home," 
 
I20 A CELIBATE'S WIFE 
 
 "Because some of the things are yours and some are 
 mine," said Prudence, who had come to look upon the 
 division as an order of nature, not a mere matter of arrange- 
 ment ; " but the Rectory does not belong to either of us.' 
 
 They were still wrangling when they reached the door, 
 which Iphigenia opened with a delicious sense of semi- 
 possession, while Prudence rang the bell to announce their 
 arrival. 
 
 " Good gracious ! " exclaimed Iphigenia, and Prudence 
 tried to look over her shoulder. 
 
 " Whatever is the matter, Fidge ? " 
 
 " Look ! " said Iphigenia, quite breathless, and she waved 
 her little hand dramatically towards the hall table covered with 
 beautiful hothouse flowers. 
 
 " Wherever did these come from ? " she asked tartly as the 
 solemn housemaid appeared, and the girl smiled for the first 
 time in the old maids' knowledge of her. 
 
 " A great many ladies of the congregation have been with 
 flowers this morning. Miss Gaydon. The house looks quite 
 like a conservatory." 
 
 Her eyes were fixed on the poor little bunches they carried, 
 in a way that made the Tomtits wish that they had dropped 
 them in the garden outside. 
 
 The attitude of the unmarried ladies of the congregation 
 towards the Rector's marriage had undergone much the 
 same change as that of the Gaydons. After uniting in 
 dispraise of the wife whom Canon Presyllett had preferred 
 to themselves, they had each awakened to the fact that the 
 dispraise suggested jealousy, and since the marriage was in- 
 evitable, had exerted themselves to appear enthusiastic about 
 it, and affectionate towards the bride. Hence the triumphal 
 archway over the village street. 
 
 The enthusiasm was catching, and Angela's prettiness had 
 won other friends besides the Squire's wife among the 
 married people of the parish — friends who were eager for 
 some means of showing their kindliness. Hence the store 
 of flowers which brightened the sombre house everywhere. 
 
 The Tomtits gazed at them disconsolately as the maid 
 led them through every room^ their eyes vainly searching for 
 
A CELIBATE'S WIFE 121 
 
 some unostentatious spot in which their garden flowers would 
 not be rendered insignificant by the hothouse blooms which 
 reigned everywhere. 
 
 " Miss Butcher said they were still wanting flowers for the 
 arch," suggested the maid, and the Tomtits jerked their 
 heads round together. Miss Butcher was the spinster they 
 had stopped in the village street. 
 
 " Has she been here ? " they asked in a breath. 
 
 "Yes, miss. She brought those magnificent lilies in the 
 study, those in the vase on the mantelshelf." 
 
 The old maids looked at one another. 
 
 " Did Mrs. Gateacre bring any flowers ? " asked Prudence 
 faintly. 
 
 "Yes, miss, quite a carriageful. Most of those in the 
 hall were hers." 
 
 "It is a pity that so many hothouse flowers have been 
 brought," said Iphigenia irritably. "They make the house 
 smell quite sickly." 
 
 Her sister was too cross even to agree with her. 
 
 " I am sure that it is very kind of everybody," she said. 
 " It is nice to think that our dear Angela has so many 
 friends." 
 
 She was quite enthusiastic about the flowers to the 
 Canon's housekeeper, who had appeared to inquire whether 
 the ladies would take tea, as the home-comers were not 
 expected for some hours. The housekeeper was a taciturn 
 widow of fifty who had been in the Canon's family and 
 that of his father all her hfe, and she had acquired a semi- 
 ecclesiastical air, which made Squire Gateacre, with his 
 fondness for nicknames, dub her "the Abbess," and speak 
 of her to his wife as a cross between a pew-opener and a 
 bishop. She stepped noiselessly as if in church, and her 
 approach had been heralded only by the rustling of her 
 black silk dress, unornamented except by a huge jet necklace 
 and suspended cross. 
 
 " Thank you very much," said Prudence, " we should like 
 a cup of tea." 
 
 There was a certain silent hostility in the Abbess's manner 
 which she had always shown towards the Canon's spinster 
 
122 A CELIBATE'S WIFE 
 
 friends, and it made the little Tomtit more than usually 
 genial and gushing. "We came early in case the house 
 needed brightening up at all, but I am glad to say that there is 
 nothing for us to do. The place looks beautiful, does it not ? 
 quite like a conservatory, as Jane says. She has been showing 
 us through the rooms. My niece is very fortunate to have 
 so many kind friends." 
 
 " Canon Presyllett has always been very much liked in the 
 parish," said the Abbess in her monotonously low voice, and 
 Prudence nodded like a bird. 
 
 " As he deserves to be. You will have dinner ready for 
 them, I suppose, when they arrive ? " 
 
 The housekeeper bowed. 
 
 " Canon Presyllett sent full directions as to the preparations 
 which were to be made." 
 
 " What a horrible woman she is ! " said Iphigenia when 
 they were alone ; " she always gives me the * creeps.' I am 
 sure that it won't be nice for dear Angela to have her in 
 the house. The Canon ought to dispense with her services 
 now he is married, and if Angela needs any assistance in 
 the management of the house — of course she is quite un- 
 domesticated — I am sure that we should neither of us 
 mind coming here to help her at first. We could take it 
 in turns." 
 
 They talked the arrangement over all through their tea- 
 drinking, which they were left to enjoy alone, and became 
 very amicable in their perfect agreement that the house- 
 keeper ought to be discarded at once. They chatted away 
 in the most friendly spirit until the question arose which 
 of them should be the first to assume the management of 
 the house. 
 
 It was well that they had something to occupy their minds, 
 for the time hung heavily on their hands. After tea they 
 wandered disconsolately through the house, looking in vain 
 for something to alter. 
 
 For want of it, they wandered out to the stables, and 
 tried hard to make the groom start with the carriage which 
 was to bring the home-comers back from Barnwood, half- 
 an-hour before the Canon had directed him, or before there 
 
A CELIBATE'S WIFE 123 
 
 was the slightest need for him to harness the horses. It was 
 very hard for them to stand by and do nothing to help in 
 the reception, and they almost regretted that they had refused 
 Mrs. Gateacre's kind offer to drive them over to the town 
 to meet Angela at the station. 
 
 They had to employ themselves deciding what alterations 
 they would make in the place when Mrs. Graeme was gone, 
 and luckily differed as to the utilisation of a room they 
 had seen empty. Prudence thought that it should be turned 
 into a store-room, Iphigenia thought it might come in useful 
 as a nursery. 
 
 " I shall suggest that, at any rate, to dear Angela," she 
 said ; and Prudence turned upon her reprovingly. 
 
 " Iphigenia, how can you be so indelicate ! " 
 
 " We have not decided what to do with our flowers yet," 
 said Iphigenia, changing the subject for want of a reply. 
 " Where did you put yours ? " 
 
 " I laid them down somewhere in the drawing-room," 
 said Prudence. 
 
 " So did I." 
 
 They had both dropped them unostentatiously behind 
 the nearest object of furniture as the Abbess entered the 
 room. 
 
 " I suppose that we shall have to put them somewhere," 
 said Prudence dejectedly; "we cannot leave them lying 
 about." 
 
 But they showed no eagerness to re-enter the house and 
 take possession of their offerings. 
 
 They had long since wandered out into the garden 
 together, unable to remain in the house, where the grim 
 housekeeper insisted on opposing every suggestion they 
 made, quoting the Canon's authority for every opposition. 
 In the austere old-world garden they could squabble un- 
 restrained, and enjoy a certain sense of part-proprietorship 
 in its beauties, and they did not return indoors until the 
 lamps were lighted in the big gloomy dining-room, where 
 the table was being laid. The Abbess, with every duty 
 performed, was sitting in state in the drawing-room ready 
 for the Rector's arrival. 
 
124 A CELIBATE'S WIFE 
 
 Iphigenia with a nervous glance caught sight of her own 
 bunch of flowers under the chair on which she was seated. 
 
 "I suppose that you will find the Rectory different now 
 that it has a mistress," said Prudence in a confidentially 
 sympathetic manner. 
 
 "Canon Presyllett assures me that it will make no 
 difference in my position or duties," said the widow, with 
 the softness of tone of the pew-opener, but something of 
 the stateliness of the bishop as well. 
 
 "Still, it is sure to make changes," said Iphigenia cheer- 
 fully. 
 
 It seemed hours to her and to her sister before the 
 welcome sound of carriage-wheels was heard on the drive, 
 and both Tomtits jumped excitedly to their feet. 
 
 " Here they are ! " they both exclaimed together, and 
 they hurried to the entrance, each anxious to be the first 
 to greet Angela. 
 
 Prudence came off victor, and Iphigenia, in her jealousy 
 of her, and in the excitement of her worked-up enthusiasm, 
 surprised the Canon by standing on tiptoe, putting her arms 
 round his neck and kissing him. 
 
 He seemed more startled than pleased by the embrace, 
 and Iphigenia was fiery red as she darted at her niece, set 
 free by Prudence. 
 
 " How well you are looking," she twittered with pure 
 conventionaHty, and added, as she saw that the conven- 
 tional remark was untrue, " only a little pale. The traveUing 
 must have tired you." 
 
 "I am rather tired," said Angela coldly, and she glanced 
 round the decorated hall without enthusiasm. She even 
 shuddered a little at the profusion of flowers on the hall 
 table. 
 
 There seemed to her something strangely out of place 
 in the affectionate enthusiasm of her aunts, in these emblems 
 of congratulation. If the convent she was entering had 
 been a convent in the eyes of the world, she would have 
 been touched by the kindness of those who kissed her on 
 the threshold and lined the path to her cell with flowers, 
 congratulating her on the devotion of her life to God. 
 
A CELIBATE'S WIFE 125 
 
 But if her convent had been a real convent, her aunts 
 would have been weeping over her, and the flowers would 
 have been absent. They only lined the path to her cell 
 because everybody took it for a bridal chamber. 
 
 It might be true that everything was emblematic. The 
 marriage was an emblem; the honeymoon, the triumphal 
 arch, and the congratulations of friends, were all emblems, 
 as the Canon had pointed out clearly; but each emblem 
 as it appeared shocked her with the vivid contrast which 
 the symbol presented to the thing symbolised, and filled her 
 with a sense of shame, as if she were acting a lie. 
 
 Her face was indeed very pale as she stood in the light 
 of the hall-lamp, and when she spoke calmly and without 
 emotion, as she usually did, all the excited anticipation with 
 which the little Tomtits had looked forward to her return 
 died away, and a sense of gloomy melancholy took its place, 
 in spite of the Canon's evident eifort to appear less austere 
 than usual. 
 
 They had allowed their conception ot a returning bride to 
 supersede the picture of their nun-like niece in their minds, 
 and the contrast chilled them. 
 
 The dinner was not a cheerful meal, although the Canon 
 exerted himself to talk industriously about their holiday, which 
 appeared to have been little more than a succession of visits 
 to different churches and philanthropic meetings. To some 
 of them the Rector admitted that he had gone alone, Angela 
 preferring to see a large children's hospital, and to accompany 
 a clerical friend of his through an unsavoury part of White- 
 chapel. It sounded to the romantic little spinsters a very 
 unromantic record, and they found it difficult to show 
 sufficient enthusiasm in the recital to keep it alive. They 
 sat and pecked away at their dinners, feeling almost as com- 
 fortable as if they were dining in church. Angela scarcely 
 joined in the conversation, only becoming enthusiastic once 
 about the hospital. 
 
 "It made me feel the use of my money," she said; 
 " although Canon Presyllett thought I was extravagant." 
 
 The Rector frowned slightly. He did not like his wife 
 to call him " Canon Presyllett ; " and Angela's determination 
 
126 A CELIBATE'S WIFE 
 
 to spend her own money as she pleased was bad enough 
 to bear without others knowing that she insisted on main- 
 taining her complete independence with regard to it. 
 
 •* I reminded my wife," he said, smiling with a sweet 
 resignation, *'that there was a hospital in Barn wood if she 
 wished to endow a cot." 
 
 "But the hospital at Barnwood is so rich," said Angela, 
 with a new animation which brought colour to her cheeks. 
 " There are no cots empty for want of funds, and no poor 
 miserable little creatures waiting for them, as there are in 
 London. And they are all God's little ones. He is none 
 the less their Father because they live in another neigh- 
 bourhood." 
 
 " Of course not, dear," said the Canon in his pulpit tone, 
 "but it is a dangerous example to set people. If every- 
 body chose to neglect the local charities it would be very 
 disastrous." 
 
 Angela did not answer, but her animation died out. She 
 felt that she had done right in endowing the London cot, and 
 she would have carried on the argument if she had not known 
 that all argument was absolutely wasted on her husband. 
 
 Ten days before, she would have taken his verdict as the 
 verdict of the earthly representative of God, but the ten 
 days had been days of disillusionment, and Angela had 
 learned to look in his decisions for a leaven of expediency 
 which to her straightforward mind made it impossible for 
 them to be the decisions of God. 
 
 She seemed glad to retire to the drawing-room, and sur- 
 prised Iphigenia by putting her arm in hers as they walked 
 upstairs. She was feeling very lonely, poor girl: for the 
 loneUness which comes from uncongenial companionship is 
 much greater than that of complete isolation. She had 
 been content to shut herself up with her soul, but it seemed 
 to her as if her soul was taken away from her when all its 
 dictates were labelled as wrong ones. 
 
 The Abbess had remained to give some directions to 
 the maid, and as they entered the drawing-room Iphigenia 
 made a dart for her neglected nosegay, and pushed it into 
 her niece's hands. 
 
A CELIBATE'S WIFE 127 
 
 "I brought you a few flowers from the garden at home, 
 dear. The others are more beautiful perhaps, but I thought 
 that you would like these simple ones better." 
 
 Prudence was frantically groping behind a cabinet, but 
 she was too late. Before she could present hers, Angela 
 had kissed the homely wallflowers which Iphigenia had pre- 
 sented, and then, to the little old maid's mingled consterna- 
 tion and pleasure, had thrown her arms impulsively round 
 her neck and burst into tears. 
 
CHAPTER XIV 
 
 There is almost inevitably something disastrous to hero- 
 worship in too intimate an acquaintance with its object. 
 Even the saints may have been fortunate in disappearing 
 before the evolution of a prying daily journalism and the 
 invention of the interview. 
 
 In daily life it is impossible for any man to invariably 
 maintain an heroic pose, and the light in which Angela saw 
 Adrian Presyllett in their daily companionship was very 
 different from the conception which she had formed of him 
 before her marriage. 
 
 The eloquent preacher, with face illuminated by spiritual 
 enthusiasm, and carefully modulated voice uttering only divine 
 truths, seemed to her quite another person from the dyspeptic 
 man who came down late to breakfast, in an irritable temper 
 because the coffee was cold and he had been searching ten 
 minutes for a collar-stud. 
 
 Angela was very young, and it came as a shock to her to 
 find that a clergyman is a man. 
 
 The bitterness of her discovery lay in the fact that she 
 had only entered into the marriage through a belief in the 
 Canon's infallibility. She had accepted his enunciation of 
 her duty as if he were the mouthpiece of God, and before 
 she had been married to him twelve hours she had found 
 in his character a hundred faults which suggested to her 
 unwilling mind that his judgments were less single-minded 
 than her own. 
 
 The first shock had come on the honeymoon journey. In 
 the train she had attacked the subject of the tenement-house 
 at Barnwood. She had grand projects, inspired by the 
 stranger she had met there, of knocking it down and build- 
 
 128 
 
A CELIBATE'S WIFE 
 
 129 
 
 ing in its place an ideal model dwelling, which would be an 
 example to property owners and a blessing to the poor. 
 She had intentionally reserved her project till after the 
 wedding, so that it might mark the commencement of their 
 partnership in good works. She was prepared to lavish 
 her share of money on it — for she was keeping her fortune 
 in her own hands — and she plunged enthusiastically into her 
 subject. 
 
 " My dear child," said her husband, with a smile, " there 
 is no need for you to trouble about the house now. I took 
 to heart your little oration about it, and am glad to say that 
 it is no longer on my hands. I might certainly have brought 
 discredit upon my calHng if I had retained it." 
 
 " And you have pulled it down already ! " she cried en- 
 thusiastically. " How good of you. But we shall have to 
 build a good house in its place, or the poor tenants will 
 have nowhere to go." 
 
 "That is a work outside my province," he said, rather 
 more coldly. "My duties do not give me time for this 
 branch of philanthropy." 
 
 " But if you have pulled the house down " she began, 
 
 and he interrupted her with his first sign of irritability. 
 
 " I have not pulled it down. All I wished to say is that 
 it is no longer on my hands. When you spoke to me I 
 instructed my agents to dispose of it, and the sale has just 
 been effected." 
 
 "And who has bought it?" she asked, the animation 
 fading slowly from her face. 
 
 "I cannot say. I left the matter entirely in the hands 
 of my business man." 
 
 "But if the new owner is a grasping man, the poor 
 tenants will only be worse off than they were before, won't 
 they?" she said wonderingly, and the unconscious reproof 
 in her voice nettled him. When he had spoken before their 
 marriage of her helping him, he had scarcely meant that she 
 was to criticise his actions. He had rather some pleasant 
 conception in his mind of himself enunciating truth, and his 
 wife helping him by agreeing that he was right. 
 
 "While the house was yours you could have seen that 
 
 I 
 
I30 A CELIBATE'S WIFE 
 
 there was no gross cruelty or extortion," she went on, " but 
 now we are quite powerless." 
 
 " My duties are really too heavy for me to have thought 
 of undertaking any responsibility in the case," he said, feeling, 
 while he excused himself, that it was rather beneath his 
 dignity to do so. " To have rebuilt the house would have 
 taken a great deal of time and money." 
 
 " But if we are giving it to God ? " she said. " I have 
 money. I meant to help. I wish that I had known you were 
 selling the house." 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 " I should have bought it myself." 
 
 She spoke quite innocently, out of the fulness of her 
 faith that they were to be two independent people, each 
 working for God in the groove that suited them. It was 
 with this idea that she had kept control of her own fortune 
 as a matter of course. She had looked forward to her com- 
 panionship with the Canon as a substitute for and fac-simile 
 of her companionship with Cecile, and it was really the 
 thought of the contrast of reality to her dream which had 
 broken down her self-control at the sight of Iphigenia's 
 wallflowers. For, although she did not spoil her aunt's 
 pleasure by mentioning the fact, wallflowers grew everywhere 
 in the garden of the old chateau in Auvergne as well as 
 behind Lilac Lodge. 
 
 To Canon Presyllett, with his almost medieval ideas of 
 the relative position of man and woman, of husband and 
 wife, such a view of their partnership was impossible. He 
 had consented to her perfect freedom of action after the 
 marriage, because he had not conceived the possibility of her 
 meditating any action without his direction and guidance. 
 
 Her suggestion about the house appeared to him childish 
 and shocking, and he reproved her for it as he would have 
 done a child. He was glad of the opportunity after her 
 implied reproach. 
 
 "My dear child, you must not talk in this absurd strain," 
 he said gravely. " You must not forget that in the eyes of 
 the world we are now one, and the fact of your buying the 
 house from me would make us both appear ridiculous. We 
 
A CELIBATE'S WIFE 131 
 
 cannot act in opposition to each other. I should not have 
 consented to your keeping your fortune in your own hands 
 if I had dreamed that you were capable of formulating such 
 absurd schemes with it." 
 
 His implied control roused a fierce feeling of opposition 
 in her heart, for her love of her own way, as we have seen, 
 was one of the main strands of the golden cord which bound 
 her to a religious life. Only her lingering faith in his 
 holiness, which his perfectly callous action with regard to the 
 rookery had shaken to its foundations, prevented her answer- 
 ing defiantly. 
 
 " I did not think of acting in opposition to you," she 
 said, controlHng herself. " I was only thinking that if the 
 only reason for selling the house was lack of time and money, 
 I have both; that we could share duties in that way, and 
 help each other." 
 
 " I think that your time and money will be much better 
 employed on our own parish," he said, a touch of pettishness 
 mingling with his pastoral manner. 
 
 " But why ? " she asked wonderingly. " The poor tenants 
 at Barnwood are no less God's poor because they live three 
 miles away from the Rectory." 
 
 She was still honestly hoping that he would show her 
 that his course was right and hers wrong in some manner, 
 as the stranger had shown her that her course had been 
 wrong in running the risk of infection, even when she had 
 felt so sure that she was doing right. She was longing 
 for a similar enlightenment now which would allow her to 
 retain her idea of her husband's infallibility. 
 
 The Canon was angry with himself for having argued with 
 her. He had not married to have his actions and decisions 
 criticised by a girl. 
 
 " It ought to be sufficient for you that I state my 
 opinion," he said, desecrating his pulpit voice in her sight 
 by using it to save himself from admitting that his decision 
 had been a merely selfish and worldly one. "You must 
 remember that you are very young to pit your opinions 
 against mine." 
 
 " But I am not pitting my opinion against yours. Canon 
 
132 A CELIBATE'S WIFE 
 
 Presyllett," she said in distress. " I am only asking how it 
 can possibly be right to leave the poor people, from whom 
 you have drawn money, to suffer, when it is so easy to see 
 how we could help them." 
 
 As a matter of fact, the practical philanthropy which luckily 
 absorbed so much of the girl's religious ardour made no 
 appeal to the ecclesiastic. He had sold the rookery as the 
 simplest means of avoiding a duty which was distasteful to 
 him, which would draw his attention more or less away from 
 channels which he thought more purely religious. But he 
 was conscious of his inability to make this reason appear in 
 a very appealing light to his wife, and her questioning irritated 
 him in consequence. 
 
 He ended it by a rebuke which was little more than an 
 outburst of temper, although it was couched in religious 
 phraseology and supported by a text. 
 
 He told her that a husband stood to his wife in the place 
 of God. 
 
 "But I am not your wife — in the eyes of God," she 
 said, quoting the words of their compact as he himself had 
 enunciated them — before the marriage; and she froze into 
 silence, subdued by his manner, but altogether unconvinced. 
 
 If there was no free exchange of opinions between them, 
 how could they ever help each other? She tried to think 
 that it was right to leave the poor Barnwood tenants to 
 their misery, because he had said that it was; but the 
 attempt was a vain one, and she was left with the painful 
 conviction that she saw God's will more plainly than her 
 guide. 
 
 Involuntarily there rose up before her mind's eye the 
 contrasting figure of a tall, handsome, earnest-eyed man, 
 who had shown her her duty in a new light and made her 
 realise it so clearly, who had answered openly when she 
 criticised his conduct in turn, and who had no need to fall 
 back for support upon the respect due to his position. 
 She sighed a little as she leaned back in the silent railway 
 carriage. 
 
 After the meeting with Gabriel Lyne, whose name she 
 did not yet know, in the slum, she had found her greatest 
 
A CELIBATE'S WIFE 133 
 
 pleasure, in considering the approaching marriage, lie in the 
 hope that she might be of some spiritual assistance even to 
 a holy man like her husband. His failure of duty in regard 
 to the unsanitary house suggested that there might be duties 
 which he was forgetting, and of which she might remind him, 
 even slight faults which she might correct. It was part of her 
 spiritual ambition to correct faults in people, and she was just 
 a little merciless in exposing them, as the poor of Windle- 
 hurst had found, and the rich were about to discover. 
 
 No sooner was she married than she found in the Canon's 
 character a hundred more faults than she had expected ; but 
 when she tried to point them out to him, he was startled 
 and shocked by her presumption, and lectured her severely, 
 in his pastoral manner, on her preposterous assumption of 
 moral superiority. He had been far too long occupied in 
 correcting other people's sins to let a girl lecture him on 
 his own. All equal argument with him was impossible. 
 
 He was selfish, with a perfect unconsciousness of his 
 vice which made it more glaring. His long social isolation 
 had inevitably left him so. Accustomed as he had been for 
 years to look at every interference with his will as so much 
 spiritual discord opposing the dictates of his conscience, it 
 never occurred to him to examine such interferences in the 
 light of a voice from another conscience and will with equal 
 rights to consideration with his own. 
 
 When he had decided, for instance, that his chances of 
 extended usefulness in the Church, and therefore his duty 
 to God, led him to call on the Winlays, Angela's bigoted 
 disinclination to waste on social functions the time that 
 might be given more distinctly to her Master did not appeal 
 to him as something holy. Rather it was a disinclination on 
 her part to do her duty, and was rebuked as such. 
 
 " You need not accompany me unless you wish," he had 
 said, as if making allowance for worldly selfishness ; and he 
 had been angry when she took him at his word. He had 
 not expected her to do so when her action would appear to 
 his friends so strange. 
 
 He explained to her irritably that it would excite remark 
 if he went anywhere alone so early in the lioneymoon ; but 
 
134 A CELIBATE'S WIFE 
 
 he was only a man pleading expediency in support of his 
 own wishes, not a spiritual leader urging duty towards God, 
 and his words fell on deaf ears. 
 
 Her conscience told her to do right, and let the world 
 think what it would; while her pride made her take just 
 a little delight in shocking conventional people, and doing 
 as many things as possible differently from them. 
 
 She had agreed to a certain amount of conventionality 
 over the marriage on the word of her spiritual superior, 
 who assured her that it was necessary for the attainment 
 of a special holy object; but she refused utterly to make 
 concessions which were only urged for the sake of conveni- 
 ence, and to prevent the world thinking them strange. She 
 saw in it only the suggestion of moral weakness and worldly 
 cowardice, and every plea for it from the Canon served to 
 make her feel his spiritual inferiority to herself, just as his 
 irritation and his selfishness did. 
 
 This realisation, while it made her more than ever determined 
 to follow the dictates of her own conscience in flat defiance of 
 her husband's wishes or protests, made her more and more 
 uncertain whether she ought ever to have entered into the 
 marriage with him. Might not his justification of its apparent 
 deceit be just as much a piece of ungodly casuistry as that 
 with which he was trying to make her do what he wanted at 
 every step ? If he had been imprudent enough at that moment 
 to admit to her that his chance of obtaining a better living 
 depended largely upon his possession of a wife, she would 
 probably have renounced the marriage at once, and returned 
 to Lilac Lodge, unconcerned by what people would say about 
 her proceedings. 
 
 But the very fact that her partnership with the Canon 
 was robbed by his character of all personal pleasantness, 
 helped her to look at the tie in the light of a duty. The 
 old idea which made our forefathers judge the efficacy of 
 a medicine in proportion to its nauseousness, was at the 
 root of her rehgious creed, and it was an article of faith 
 with her that, of two courses, the one is right which is the 
 less pleasing. 
 
 It is this axiom which simplifies a woman's creed, and 
 
A CELIBATE'S WIFE 135 
 
 makes her accept the ethics of Christianity with less sense 
 of insufficiency than a man. The passion that a good man 
 Hke Gabriel Lyne has for truth, fairness, and consistency, is 
 balanced in the feminine nature by a passion for self-sacrifice. 
 All she asks for in a creed is a justification of the sacrifice 
 which appeals to her, and Christianity gives it completely, 
 justifying the axiom by which she decides between right and 
 wrong. It is this glorification of self-sacrifice overpowering 
 the admiration of every other virtue in a woman's nature, 
 which fills the Christian churches with bonnets, while it pro- 
 bably does more than anything else to encourage vice, brutality, 
 and egotism in men. Men will never cease to domineer over 
 and wrong women until the latter realise that it is not always 
 more holy to suffer than to revolt. 
 
 Poor Angela's dream of helpful companionship with a saint 
 whose every word and action would help her to become more 
 godlike, above all of an untrammelled liberty in which she 
 could follow the dictates of conscience, without the distrac- 
 tion of a single remonstrating voice with its plea of worldly 
 prudence or conventionality, had disappeared quickly when 
 she found her husband determined to direct her every move- 
 ment, and to weigh every penny she gave in charity without 
 his sanction ; but in its place she found a burden to be taken 
 up for God, and she had no thought of turning back. After 
 all, she had consented to the marriage, not for the companion- 
 ship she found so uncongenial, but to increase her usefulness 
 and freedom. 
 
 Her freedom she fought for with that irritating calmness 
 which sprang from the consciousness that her will was more 
 the will of God than that of the Canon who opposed it. His 
 faults she bore patiently, making no further useless attempt 
 to correct them, but shielding herself from their effect in her 
 marble mould of pious artificial emotionlessness. 
 
 On her knees, where she spent much of her time in her 
 room at night, she thanked her heavenly Father for having 
 saved her from letting her devotion to Him deteriorate into 
 devotion to one of His imperfect servants, and begged His 
 help to enable her to bear patiently this cross which He had 
 been pleased to lay upon her. 
 
136 A CELIBATE'S WIFE 
 
 The opportunities of increased usefulness offered her by 
 her position as the Rector's wife spread out before her now 
 as the one justification of her empty marriage, and the one 
 means she had of forgetting its unpleasantness. 
 
 On her return to Windlehurst after the ill-advised honey- 
 moon's ten days of martyrdom, she threw herself into her 
 duties with an ardour which was rather hard on the good 
 people of the place, who had certainly not asked her to 
 marry, but who found themselves obliged to suffer for 
 the fact. 
 
 Now that the Rector's weaknesses had been made known 
 to her, she could no longer leave the spiritual welfare of 
 his perishing flock to his charge, and she startled the help- 
 less Canon by informing him that she had decided upon a 
 house to house visitation to persuade every member of the 
 congregation to give their hearts more thoroughly to God. 
 
 "Among the poor it might do good," he said uneasily; 
 and Angela answered, with her cold calm — 
 
 "The poor seem to me to be nearer God than the rich. 
 I shall go to all." 
 
 "But you are sure to offend people," he pleaded. The 
 idea shocked him. It was all very well for her to intrude 
 upon the humbler cottages, where her constant charity and 
 helpfulness made her a welcome visitor; but her social 
 equals ! It was an insult to speak to such people privately 
 and directly, without invitation, about their souls. 
 
 He tried to express it in Biblical language, but Angela 
 saw only, in his words, the plea of a worldly man trembling 
 for his social reputation and his Easter offerings, and she 
 went on her way as usual to obey the dictates of God and 
 her conscience. 
 
 When Gabriel Lyne paid one of his rare visits to the 
 Hall, he found Mrs. Gateacre completely incensed against 
 his Nun. 
 
 " Has she not begun to tone down yet ? " he asked, 
 smiling ; and the matron held up her hands. 
 
 " Toned down ! Why, she is possessed with seven more 
 devils of fanaticism than before. Yesterday she came here 
 on purpose to plead with me to go to church in a cloak 
 
A CELIBATE'S WIFE 137 
 
 like hers, to set an example to the villagers. * How can 
 your thoughts or theirs be really centred on God when 
 your church-going is little more than an opportunity for 
 display ? ' she asked me. And I was so prepared to like her. 
 I actually kissed her when she came in, and thought she had 
 come over simply for a cup of tea and a gossip about her 
 wedding presents, like a sensible girl. She was luckily out 
 when I paid my visit to the Rectory. I hear that she talked 
 to Miss Butcher about nothing but her soul, and prayed with 
 her, instead of showing her her presents. I am sick of her." 
 
 " And did you hear about Jakes the butcher ? " put in the 
 Squire, smiling. " He was converted at the mission services, 
 you know, and put a notice up in his shop : ' The Leopard 
 has changed his Spots.' As soon as the services were over 
 he resumed his spots, and has been drunk ever since. Mrs. 
 Presyllett found him in a maudlin mood, and made him 
 promise that whenever the craving for drink came on him 
 again, whether by night or day, he would come to her at 
 the Rectory, and let her pray with him and make him cups 
 of tea until the temptation was passed. She is a practical 
 young woman in her way, you see. The next night they 
 were roused at the Rectory just after midnight by the 
 furious ringing of the door-bell. Everybody got up, think- 
 ing the house was on fire. *It is only poor Jakes,' said 
 Mrs. Presyllett, running down in her dressing-gown. 'No- 
 body need be disturbed. I told him to come, and am going 
 to pray with him.' As it happened, they had to lay him in 
 the coach-house instead. The poor man had muddled up 
 his instructions and got hopelessly, speechlessly drunk before 
 he sought his good angel's assistance." 
 
 Gabriel was good-natured enough to laugh, but there was 
 something more pathetic than amusing in these glimpses of 
 an honest woman struggling to carry out the actual ethics 
 of Christianity in a society which has made Christianity 
 simply a name and protection for conventional propriety and 
 etiquette. 
 
 "You still wear a pretty dress, I see, in spite of the 
 lecture," he said, turning to Mrs. Gateacre; and the good 
 lady shrugged her broad shoulders. 
 
138 A CELIBATE'S WIFE 
 
 " What do you think ? A girl scarcely out of school, too." 
 
 And she went on totting up the amounts which were 
 passed through her hands to send missionaries out to the 
 heathen and tell them that their long-established customs 
 were all wicked. 
 
 " Mrs. Presyllett will be trying to convert you next," 
 she said when she looked up. 
 
 " I hope not," said Gabriel gravely. 
 
CHAPTER XV 
 
 The question of the Sunday opening of the Windlehurst 
 reading-room did not, when Squire Gateacre decided to 
 dismiss the subject for a time from his mind, cease to 
 occupy the attention of others in the village. The leaders 
 of the movement having failed for want of the Squire's 
 casting vote to gain their cause, suddenly bethought them- 
 selves of the advisability of getting up a petition among 
 the inhabitants of the village in favour of the opening, and 
 were canvassing vigorously for signatures. 
 
 The Canon came down to breakfast irritable, as he usually 
 was in the morning, with the news. He took it as a 
 personal movement against himself. He held the opinion 
 so common among the official representatives of a meek 
 and lowly Outcast, that his position made him a despotic 
 monarch, and that any attempt in his little realm to act 
 in opposition to his wishes was so much high-treason. It 
 is the natural result of his spiritual authority. When it is 
 his duty to enunciate the will of the Creator, each of his 
 enunciations, social, political, or private, becomes insepar- 
 ably associated in his mind with the Creator's will, and 
 any opposition to his views becomes in his mind as heinous 
 as opposition to the Creator. 
 
 With this natural confusion of thought, the Canon always 
 spoke of the Sunday-opening movement as opposition to 
 God, but always treated it as private opposition to himself. 
 Nor was his treatment entirely without justification. Hodges, 
 one of the most active supporters of the movement, was 
 the village grocer, and had only adopted his views when 
 the Canon decided that he could get his groceries more 
 cheaply from the stores at Barnwood. It was he who had 
 
 139 
 
I40 A CELIBATE'S WIFE 
 
 thought of a pubUc petition, which might win a wavering 
 vote from the committee when Captain Benson once more 
 opened the question at their meeting. 
 
 "The irreHgious tendencies of the day are spreading 
 everywhere," said the Canon petulantly, as he cracked his 
 egg. "It is really terrible to think what even our rural 
 parishes will become if this wave of free- thought continues. 
 A year or two ago nobody would have dreamed of such 
 a thing as openly advocating the desecration of the Sabbath, 
 and now I hear that some of the most influential people 
 in the parish are actually signing that man's shameless peti- 
 tion. I really don't know what I have done to make them 
 delight in opposing me. There is Miss Butcher, for instance, 
 whom I really thought that I had influenced during the 
 mission services. Gateacre tells me that her name actually 
 heads the list. — The coffee is cold again, as usual." 
 
 "Jane will make you some more," said Angela with her 
 devout calm. " I could not delay breakfast, as I have pro- 
 mised to be at the schools when they open. I am speaking 
 to the children after the opening prayers." 
 
 She rang the bell as she spoke without waiting for his 
 reply, and went on talking about the petition. 
 
 " Do you think it would be of use to collect signatures 
 against the opening of the reading-room? If so, I would 
 canvass the village." 
 
 " I really don't know," he said impatiently. " It would 
 be worse than useless if we got fewer names than Hodges, 
 and according to the Squire he has already secured a good 
 many. If we had only thought of a petition first. Besides, 
 the decision does not really depend upon public opinion, but 
 upon the votes of the committee." 
 
 "But surely nobody on the committee would vote for 
 the desecration of Sunday ? " asked Angela. 
 
 Her views on the subject of Sabbatarianism were the 
 views which she had been taught as a child, and which 
 she held with the unquestioning faith still of a child, to 
 whom it has never for a moment occurred that any other 
 view is honestly possible. The anti-Sabbatarians were not 
 men who saw duty in a different light from herself — a light 
 
A CELIBATE'S WIFE 141 
 
 which had the same claim to consideration as that in which 
 she saw the question. They were men who knew what 
 was right, and through carelessness of God's will preferred 
 their own way, just as she herself might, if she wavered a 
 moment in her devotion, wilfully mend her gloves on 
 Sunday, and even make plausible excuses on the score of 
 necessity or neatness to gloss over her sin. 
 
 "You must take very little interest in the work of the 
 parish," said the Canon, "or you would know that the 
 committee is equally divided, and that only the Squire's 
 casting vote saves the reading-room from being thrown open, 
 and the thin edge of a horrible secularism introduced into 
 our very midst. — Isn't that coifee coming ? My egg will be 
 perfectly cold now." 
 
 There was some excuse to be made for his petulance, to 
 those who understand the basis of his creed. When he 
 had sunk his holiness to the point of committing a com- 
 parative sin and eating palatable food, it was very hard for 
 him to lose any of its palatableness through the thoughtless- 
 ness of those around him. 
 
 Angela made no excuse, however, and merely glanced 
 at the Abbess, who sat at the side of the table in grim 
 silence. The good lady had always remained silent in the 
 old days except when the Canon addressed her, and now 
 that he had somebody else to address, she had become a 
 sort of automaton at the table. Angela, after the first few 
 attempts at friendliness, had been driven by her want of 
 response into ignoring her, and probably pleased the taciturn 
 widow as much by doing so as by leaving the management 
 of the house absolutely in her hands. She rose now like 
 a mechanical figure without sound to attend to the Rector's 
 temporal necessities, while his wife pursued the subject of 
 the reading-room. 
 
 " I am sorry I have not taken more interest in the place," 
 she said. " It seemed to me so purely secular. But if 
 there is any danger of its being made use of to introduce 
 infidehty " 
 
 "Of course there is fear. Gateacre, as I say, has the 
 casting vote, and he is almost entirely under the influence 
 
142 A CELIBATE'S WIFE 
 
 of that fellow Lyne. He has already threatened to join the 
 other side." 
 
 " I will speak to Mr. Gateacre about it when I see him," 
 said Angela. 
 
 "It would not be of the least use. I have used all my 
 influence, but directly I have spoken Lyne takes him in 
 hand and ruins all the good that I have done. Gateacre 
 is infatuated with the fellow. He actually brought him here 
 one day." 
 
 " Perhaps he hoped that you could turn the infidel's heart 
 to God." 
 
 " I am afraid that he expected Lyne to turn mine," said 
 the Canon ; and Angela was trying to defend the Squire from 
 an accusation so terrible, when the clock told her that she 
 must start for the schools. 
 
 She was thinking of what the Canon had told her, and 
 wondering what part she could play to stem the current of 
 secularism in the parish, all the time that she was walking 
 there, and she only ceased to ponder on it when she was 
 in the schools. For she was fond of children, and she 
 talked to them pleasantly in her sweet calm voice, giving 
 them advice which would have made them as morbidly self- 
 centred and self-righteous as herself if they had paid any real 
 attention to her. 
 
 After the address, and a short inspection of the children 
 which gave her an opportunity of increasing the conceit of 
 the most priggish and unnatural among them with encourage- 
 ment and praise, the "beautiful lady," as they called her, 
 went back to her thoughts of the Windlehurst Infidel and 
 the influence he was said to have obtained over the Squire. 
 
 She had heard Gabriel Lyne's name more than once, 
 chiefly from the Rector, whose vituperative hostility only 
 served to colour the conception of him which his title had 
 made her form. Her conception was the usual childish 
 one which makes the infidel a man who, having broken all 
 God's laws, wilfully tries to exonerate himself by pretending 
 that there is no God to punish him for it. There was 
 another infidel in the village, a cobbler, who was usually 
 drunk, and had been in prison, and who met her on his 
 
A CELIBATE'S WIFE 143 
 
 threshold with foul abuse, and oaths which made her 
 shudder. Her compact with him to give him twopence for 
 every five minutes that he allowed her peacefully to read 
 the Bible to him, was another of the stories current about 
 her in the parish. 
 
 She always associated Gabriel Lyne in her mind with this 
 man, for they were both infidels. 
 
 He was on her list of persons whom she must visit, and 
 she was looking forward to ingratiating herself with him 
 in much the same way as she had ingratiated herself with 
 the cobbler. It was true that he was richer and more 
 educated than the recipient of her twopences — she had 
 gathered this much about him — but she expected him to 
 cover her with abuse when she approached him, and to be 
 touched by her sweet resignation, and the gift of flowers 
 perhaps, and the fact that a good woman could talk even 
 to an infidel as a brother in Christ and therefore a friend. 
 - She had no fear of the encounter, and only the isolated 
 position of the rationaHst's cottage had caused his name 
 to be among the last on her list. Now that his evil in- 
 fluence was threatening to affect the most important man 
 from a social point of view in the place, it occurred to her 
 that her visit ought to be hastened, and when she returned 
 to the Rectory she tapped at the door of her husband's 
 study. 
 
 The Canon was supposed to be composing his sermon 
 for the Sunday, and she had to wait some minutes until 
 he unlocked the door for her. 
 
 "Come in, dear," he said more brightly than he had 
 spoken for some days past, and as Angela entered she 
 noticed the look of spiritual exaltation on his face, which 
 she had scarcely seen since her wedding day. 
 
 "I just called in to tell you that I may not be back 
 to lunch," she said. "I have been giving a good deal of 
 thought to what you told me about the reading-room com- 
 mittee, and I think that God has shown me a way in which 
 I can possibly help." 
 
 Unconsciously she had adopted more and more since her 
 marriage this pet phrase of his own, which robbed of half 
 
144 A CELIBATE'S WIFE 
 
 its strength any opposition he might offer. Before he could 
 claim the sanction of God for his opposition, his wife had 
 always claimed it for her proposal. 
 
 To-day the Canon did not appear irritated by it. He 
 was preserving the calm sweetness which had distinguished 
 his manner before the wedding. 
 
 " Yes, dear," he said, smiling. 
 
 "If the decision about the Sunday opening depends on 
 the Squire, and remonstrance is useless with him, we must 
 go to the fountain-head. I am going to show this Gabriel 
 Lyne how sinful the Sunday opening would be." 
 
 The smile died quickly from the Canon's thin face. 
 
 " But the man is an infidel." 
 
 " I know. But God can change the heart of an infidel." 
 
 "Yes, but not through the instrumentality of an un- 
 trained girl," he said with quick impatience. "You have 
 had no experience of philosophical debate; you have never 
 studied the arguments with which he will try and defend 
 his pernicious doctrine." 
 
 Her lip curled a little. 
 
 "Is faith, then, a matter of book-learning?" she asked, 
 with that fine scorn of intellectual effort in matters of belief 
 which distinguishes the uneducated Christian. "Our Lord 
 did not ask whether the humble fishermen He chose as His 
 disciples had taken a university degree before sending them 
 out to teach about Him." 
 
 For want of a ready argument he rebuked her irrever- 
 ence, which really pained him, for her words had involun- 
 tarily conjured up in his mind some grotesque picture of 
 St. Peter sweating through his "Little Go." For her a 
 university degree was too vague a thing for the irreverence 
 to appear, and she took his rebuke as a mere sign of weak- 
 ness. She had learned his methods very quickly. 
 
 "I am sorry if I appeared irreverent," she said mechani- 
 cally. "I did not intend it. I was only thinking that our 
 Lord never considered secular learning and educational train- 
 ing necessary for those who were to teach about Him and 
 for Him." 
 
 Her argument placed him in a strait, as it always did, 
 
A CELIBATE'S WIFE 145 
 
 forcing him either to give the real reason of his objection, 
 with the certainty that she would see its actual independence 
 of the creed he professed, or inventing from the creed a 
 reason which was inadequate. 
 
 He could not admit that she, with the great majority of 
 Christians, believed simply through ignorance, and because 
 she had heard no other side of the question. And this was 
 what any actual explanation of his objection to her meeting 
 the Infidel must amount to. 
 
 And still he could not let her follow her own way in 
 this, as he was becoming accustomed to do. The idea of 
 her meeting Gabriel Lyne, with his wonderful powers of per- 
 suasion and his logical invulnerability, filled him with a keen 
 jealousy. 
 
 The tie that bound her to himself might be only a 
 nominal one, but all his pride united in making him fight 
 against the slightest chance of it ever being broken. And 
 her perfectly independent nature made him dread the least 
 weakening of the ascetic creed which had made her go 
 through the ceremony of marriage with him. It was her 
 faith which had led her into the false marriage, it was her 
 faith which held her bound by it, and with eyes rendered 
 clear by self-interest the Canon could see her faith crumbling 
 away through contact with Gabriel Lyne. He could even 
 imagine her, with her strange views of honesty and straight- 
 forwardness, admiring the Infidel more than himself, and 
 the thought was gall and bitterness to him. 
 
 It was not that he loved her. Love was impossible to him 
 without an upheaval of his whole nature and creed. But the 
 girl's beauty filled him with a passion that was strong at the 
 moment, and which made the mere nominal possession of 
 her a thing of moment to him, which made him wildly jealous 
 of the Infidel's superior physical attractions. 
 
 His face was full of eagerness as he tried with faint hopes 
 to meet her on her own ground. If the ignorant fishermen 
 were chosen to teach among the peasants of Galilee, he said, 
 it was the highly educated and acutely philosophical St. Paul 
 who was selected to meet the intellectual Athenians. 
 
 " But I am sure that if St. Peter had found an Athenian 
 
 K 
 
146 A CELIBATE'S WIFE 
 
 perverting people in Galilee, he would have told him about 
 Jesus," said Angela with calm assurance. 
 
 "But you are not St. Peter," he said, rasped by her irre- 
 verence ; and the girl answered quickly — 
 
 " No, but I am trying to do the Lord's work, as he did." 
 
 "Are you not trusting too much to your own power of 
 argument ? " he asked. 
 
 "I am not trusting to it at all. I am trusting entirely 
 to God. If I had studied debating and these works of 
 philosophy, I should be trusting to myself perhaps. Possibly 
 that was the secret of your failure to affect Lyne when the 
 Squire gave you an opportunity. I must be going now, or I 
 shall not get through the rest of my work." 
 
 She turned towards the door as she spoke, and, exaspe- 
 rated by his powerlessness to affect her mind or turn her 
 one hair's-breadth from her path, the Canon seized her arm. 
 
 "Angela, you must not go to that man. It is not right. 
 It is presumptuous. I forbid you." 
 
 His breath was hot on her face, and she tried to draw 
 away from him, but he held her tightly, clutching both wrists 
 with his gaunt hands. 
 
 She made no further attempt to free herself, but raised 
 her eyes coldly to his flushed ones. 
 
 / "Canon Presyllett, you forget yourself. What right have 
 you to touch me ? " 
 
 His powerlessness to pose in her eyes as a religious guide 
 had taken away all his pride and restraint, and he held her 
 more tightly, his face flushed with passion. 
 
 " You are my wife. I can do anything I hke with you." 
 
 " I am your wife in the eyes of the world," she said 
 quietly, although her heart was beating quickly with fear. 
 "Release my hands or I shall return to Lilac Lodge, and 
 cease to be even that." 
 
 Her threat cowed him as well as the scorn in her voice. 
 He dropped his hands. 
 
 " Forgive me. I am not myself to-day," he said huskily. 
 "But it is wrong for you to think of going to that man's 
 house — wrong in God's eyes." 
 
 She did not answer. The very mention of the Divine 
 
A CELIBATE'S WIFE 147 
 
 name from his lips seemed profane to her after his exhibition 
 of brutal temper. He had paced the length of the room 
 in his disquietude, and when he turned, afraid to meet her 
 eyes, she was gone — gone on her noble mission to the 
 Windlehurst Infidel with a sickening sense of repulsion in 
 her mind against the man with whom she had passed through 
 the ceremony of marriage. 
 
CHAPTER XVI 
 
 The poor Canon did not know why his wife's arguments 
 always exasperated him, why they always robbed him of his 
 persuasive power of debate, and left him with no weapon 
 but the blunt dictation which she conscientiously ignored. 
 He was sure that she was wrong in this case, and he knew 
 that he could not persuade her that she was wrong, because 
 she accepted no proof that was not based on the trans- 
 cendental ethics which he claimed to believe. By those 
 ethics, in their simplest form, he was always bound to agree 
 with her, however ill advised she appeared from a practical 
 standpoint. The practical standpoint she despised. 
 
 " Jesus never paused to consider what people would think, 
 or whether He would endanger His social position," she 
 would answer loftily in answer to his casuistries, and a gall- 
 ing sense of apparent religious inferiority would generally 
 end in making the ecclesiastic lose his temper. 
 
 Unknown to himself, the sting of her opposition lay in 
 the fact that it forced him at every point to admit that he 
 possessed two creeds — one an heroic one which he claimed 
 publicly as his sole belief, and the other a practical one by 
 which he ruled nine-tenths of his actions. It is possible 
 to retain the two quite comfortably, as every conventional 
 Christian does, so long as we have only our own minds to 
 satisfy with casuistries when the inconsistency of the two 
 creeds becomes apparent. The Canon had had little diffi- 
 culty in reconciling his conscience to the reading of Christ's 
 words in church, " And if any man will sue thee at the law 
 and take away thy coat, let him have thy cloak also ; " while 
 he carried, from court to court, a little law case he had been 
 involved in, and lost, over a piece of land, or prosecuted 
 
 148 
 
A CELIBATE'S WIFE 149 
 
 a little boy for stealing apples from his orchard. He asked 
 no authority when he urged the prosecution of some un- 
 happy " Peculiar People " in the village, who had let their 
 child die for want of medical attendance, in direct obedience 
 to a biblical command. 
 
 But Angela wanted authority for everything, and would 
 take none except the example or command of Christ, at which 
 the poor Canon could often only arrive by a very circuitous 
 route indeed. To convince her was quite a different matter 
 from satisfying his own conscience ; and after finding on the 
 wedding day that he was dumb while he remained on the 
 lofty platform of pure Christian ethics with her, and she deaf 
 when he climbed down to the lowly standpoint of practicability, 
 he had ceased to argue, and contented himself with praying 
 that God would give her a humble enough spirit to take his 
 decisions as a wife should without question. 
 
 He had resigned himself to her opposition, as she had 
 resigned herself to his, as a thorn in the flesh which had 
 to be borne patiently for God's sake, and had actually con- 
 fessed to God what he could not stoop to confess to his 
 wife — some contrition for the fits of irritability into which 
 it had driven him. He was still looking upon her subjec- 
 tively as an influence on his soul. The girl's soul, and his 
 relation to it, did not enter into his thoughts. He looked 
 forward to a change in her which would lessen the friction 
 between them and save him from annoyance. It never 
 remotely suggested itself to him that the friction might be 
 removed by a change in himself. He had through his 
 long celibacy justified every one of his actions to himself 
 before God, until it would have become almost an opposition 
 to God to change them. To do so out of thoughtfulness 
 for his wife's happiness would have been to distract his 
 thoughts from a lofty ideal, and place before himself that 
 lowlier standard of conduct which, together with its im- 
 purity, helped to make ordinary marriage a snare for the 
 earnest seeker after holiness. 
 
 The marriage had turned out, of course, very very differently 
 from what he had expected. His surprise in Angela's char- 
 acter after the ceremony had been fully as great as her 
 
ISO A CELIBATE'S WIFE 
 
 surprise in his. Throughout his clerical career he had been 
 consistently treated by all the ladies with whom he had 
 been brought in contact with a mixture of awe and admira- 
 tion, and Angela's attitude before the marriage had done 
 nothing to make him expect different treatment from her. 
 She had listened to him as an oracle, and spoken with bated 
 breath of the position he offered her. He had naturally 
 thought that she would always be a worshipper, listening to 
 him as the representative of God in lowly humility ; and on 
 the very first day of their spiritual partnership she had 
 lectured him on his faults, criticised his commands, and 
 openly refused to obey them, because they did not seem to 
 her feminine conscience the commands of God. It was an 
 overwhelming shock to him. It jostled roughly his almost 
 mediaeval idea of women, according to which it was a sin 
 against religion for a wife to express an opinion in opposition 
 to her husband. The realisation of her sinfulness in doing 
 so prevented his feeling the sting of her criticisms. He was 
 so shocked by them that he never paused to wonder whether 
 they were true ones. 
 
 Her refusal to accept his decisions placed the marriage in 
 a new light considered as a feat of purity, the view of it 
 which had particularly appealed to him. He had looked 
 upon women as little more than vehicles of passion, tempta- 
 tions to sin, in the same category with tasty dishes and 
 champagne ; and Angela was certainly a temptation to him. 
 Her physical beauty inflamed him even while she was 
 opposing him, and prevented his regretting the marriage 
 for a moment in spite of her independence. But her 
 independence took away all credit that he might have 
 claimed for his purity. Her will was a factor in the case 
 which he had not taken into consideration. In all his 
 thoughts before marriage he had thought of her as an 
 instrument perfectly pliant in his hand for good or evil. 
 In his pleasant conception he had been imagining her, 
 with less purity than his own, waiting for him to dismiss 
 with a word the restriction they had voluntarily placed upon 
 their union, watching the struggle between the Angel and the 
 Beast, with some human partisanship for the latter. 
 
A CELIBATE'S WIFE 151 
 
 Her rejection of his authority, and her scarcely veiled 
 hostility to him personally, had altered all that. The Angel 
 and the Beast might struggle as much as they liked, but 
 the decision would rest with Angela, and the Canon realised 
 very clearly what her decision would be. She had already 
 evidenced her determination to maintain the merely nominal 
 nature of their contract with a stringency even greater than 
 that which he had purposed to himself. Accustomed as he 
 was to snatching for himself any small gratification that could 
 be justified by his circular method of casuistry, he had 
 looked forward to kissing her, as in the vestry, when a 
 public exhibition of tenderness was necessary to preserve 
 the world's view of their union. The kiss had shocked her, 
 and she had absolutely forbidden any future public decep- 
 tion of the character. When he took her hand she shrank 
 away from his touch as from something unholy, and never 
 by any means did he catch a glimpse of her in the slightest 
 deshabille. 
 
 The realisation galled him inexpressibly. There was 
 nothing for which he struggled harder than for moral isola- 
 tion, the making of every moral question an issue between 
 himself and God. It was the keynote of his character, as 
 it was of his wife's, and furnished the motive-power of their 
 abnegation. They bowed to the control of God, as they 
 imagined God, for the pleasure of ignoring every other in- 
 terference with their actions. This attitude, as we have 
 seen, showed itself even in such small matters as the Canon's 
 irritability towards his cold breakfast. He had settled with 
 God and his conscience the exact amount of physical grati- 
 fication he could give himself, and resented every outside 
 influence which his conscience had not taken into considera- 
 tion in the debate, but which altered the result. 
 
 The whole attraction of his marriage, apart from the 
 assistance it would give him in gaining the Kensington 
 living, had lain in the fact that it would assist in the moral 
 isolation he loved and craved for. It would make his purity 
 a matter between himself and the Almighty, and free it 
 from any social restraint. He had never been alone with 
 his conscience before in the matter. There had always 
 
152 A CELIBATE'S WIFE 
 
 been the galling consciousness that, with his conscience out 
 of the question, he had society and his parish to reckon 
 with. Only the profoundest secrecy with regard to his occa- 
 sional lapses from purity had enabled him to settle accounts 
 afterwards with his Maker alone ; to say, " I have sinned, I 
 have repented, I have laid my sin on Christ. I am once 
 more perfectly holy, and friends with the Deity I have 
 offended." His peace when he had done this had for 
 ever been marred by the fear that he might be brought to 
 another tribunal; that the knowledge of his sin would leak 
 out, and subject him to the criticism of the world, which 
 would laugh at his holiness, dub him a mere filthy hypo- 
 crite, and possibly hound him out of his living. 
 
 It is a very disturbing after-thought for a man who has 
 made peace with God and his conscience, and the poor 
 Canon had hoped that his marriage would save him effec- 
 tually from its recurrence. 
 
 " Now, if he fell," he had told himself, " the galling in- 
 terference of society was provided against, and there would 
 be no disturbing voice to interfere awkwardly in his direct 
 relationship to the Deity." 
 
 This was the grand consideration which had made him 
 urge the marriage with enthusiasm, when once he had 
 persuaded himself that he had received Divine sanction for 
 it ; and it was possibly the unadmitted anticipation of falling 
 which threw a glow over the presence of Angela in his house, 
 even after her opposition and her quite startling want of 
 .personal admiration for him had made it seem so different 
 from what he had fondly imagined. 
 
 Her coldness increased his passion and lessened his self- 
 restraint, for his impatience of outside interferences with 
 the dictates of God or Devil in him was bound up with 
 his creed; and the attitude of his wife, which robbed God 
 and Devil of free play, became an offence against his soul. 
 Any endearment with which he might hope to break down 
 her unanticipated coldness became in his eyes justified by 
 the result it might have in leaving him face to face once 
 more with the Almighty. 
 
 But again the justification was empty, for Angela would 
 
A CELIBATE'S WIFE 153 
 
 not allow the least endearment, and his realisation of the 
 slender tie which bound them together, and which she might 
 break at any moment, prevented his venturing anything in 
 opposition to her will. 
 
 The position was an unbearable one, leaving him without 
 either gratification or credit, and the ascetic had locked 
 himself in his study to lay the whole matter before God, 
 while his wife was lecturing the school children and deciding 
 that her duty called her to the conversion of Gabriel Lyne. 
 She always thought of him as Lyne, or Gabriel Lyne, partly 
 because the Canon never gave him a prefix, partly because 
 the fact of his infidelity placed him in her mind on a low 
 social level with the drunken cobbler and butcher. While 
 she had been advising the village girls to keep a little note- 
 book for the private record of their sins, her husband had 
 been stretched before the martyred bishop's praying-stool 
 begging that she might be set free from certain sins of 
 rebellion against authority and obstinate contumacy which 
 never appeared in the young wife's own note-book, although 
 she kept one. 
 
 The Rector prayed very fervently that his wife might be 
 made all that he wanted her to be — docile, obedient, and 
 humble; and his prayer was really so genuine, that it did 
 not satisfy him. If he had been petitioning for strength 
 against a pleasant temptation, he would have left the request 
 contentedly with Divinity; but his whole nature called for 
 dominion over the woman to whom he had given his name, 
 and he rose from his knees to pace the floor, puzzHng over 
 the^best practical means of gaining it. 
 
 His perfect powerlessness was galling to think of. If 
 he appealed to his authority as a husband, Angela reminded 
 him of the words he had spoken only to gain his point 
 before the marriage — that he was not her husband in the 
 eyes of God. If he claimed the right to her obedience as 
 to the minister of Christ, she was quick to show him that 
 he was using that claim for the furtherance of his personal 
 wishes, and that it ceased as such to affect her. When he 
 defended himself from the imputation, their creeds clashed, 
 and her purely heroic one triumphed over his double creed 
 
154 A CELIBATE'S WIFE 
 
 with its unadmitted worship of convenience, custom, and 
 conventionality side by side with its worship of Christ. 
 
 Other men could appeal to their wife's affection, and the 
 Canon was beginning to realise how great a part earthly love 
 plays in the mental union of husband and wife. In a 
 strangely perverted way he began for the first time to see 
 something of the divine use of passion, and he was ready 
 to admit that though it would be a sin for him to love 
 his wife, still it would be in the interests of God if his wife 
 loved him. 
 
 Deep in his heart of hearts he had expected her to do 
 so. From the moment when she first called upon him he 
 had imagined himself exerting over her the same personal 
 charm which he seemed to exert over all the elderly un- 
 married ladies of Windlehurst. Their unfailing admiration 
 had filled him with a superb personal vanity, unconscious 
 because of its completeness ; and the idea of any religiously 
 minded woman considering him with either apathy or dislike 
 had not occurred to him as within the reach of possibility. 
 He would not admit to himself that it was possible now. 
 Angela's growing antipathy against him, which she could not 
 help showing, must be the antipathy which he himself felt 
 towards champagne : he dreaded and shrank from it because 
 he loved it. 
 
 As he was striding backwards and forwards across the 
 dimly lighted mediaeval room, he heard the postman come 
 to the front door, and, hungry as he was for the divine help 
 of coincidences, hurried to the letter-box to see what he had 
 brought. 
 
 It was another letter from Lord Winlay, informing him 
 with many regrets that his friend who had the gift of St. 
 Catherine's had ignored his suggestion of the Canon, and had 
 given the living to a relation of his own, a young unmarried 
 man just fresh from his ordination. 
 
 " I hope to goodness," the worldly aristocrat had written 
 in his usual half-joking strain, " that you did not marry your 
 new wife on the chance of gaining the living. If so, it is 
 rather awkward, old man. It is so much more difficult to 
 get rid of a wife than to gain one ; and the only living which 
 
A CELIBATE'S WIFE 155 
 
 I have the least interest in now is pretty sure to be given to 
 a celibate when it falls vacant. The congregation and the 
 owner of the living are highly ritualistic." 
 
 Canon Presyllett crushed the paper in his hand. He had 
 been counting on this reward of his marriage as a certainty, 
 and it left him with his action unjustified completely unless 
 it could be made the feat of purity which he had meditated. 
 
 He fell on his knees again, and the thoughts which had 
 coursed through his mind as he walked at the bidding of 
 self-love of passion and vanity began to bear fruit in forming 
 a message from Divinity. 
 
 His wife's want of docility was a sin against Heaven. He 
 had no doubt about that. The idea of woman's subordi- 
 nation to man, crusted with antiquity, cannot well lack 
 authority from a creed which has always been officially 
 enunciated by males, and in the Canon's mind it was one 
 of those ideas which lay too deep for question. Angela's 
 contumacy was a sin ; he must do what he could, therefore, 
 to prevent it; and the only plan which seemed to him to 
 promise a successful result was that of rousing or increasing 
 her passion for himself. Only by so doing could he make 
 his purity of account in God's eyes. His duty was surely 
 plain. God had spoken. 
 
 He rose from his knees with a new purpose — the purpose 
 which had softened his voice and sweetened his manner 
 when Angela entered the room on her return from the 
 schools. It was a different face with which he watched her 
 go — that of a man baffled and exasperated. 
 
CHAPTER XVII 
 
 Just beyond the church at Windlehurst, a decaying finger- 
 post, dumb with age, pointed mutely down a lane which 
 branched off at right angles from the highroad to Barn- 
 wood. To-day the obliterated board was the finger of 
 Destiny, for as Angela passed it, it was pointing to the 
 cottage of Gabriel Lyne. The lane was a little-used one, 
 and the Rector's wife was on fresh ground when she found 
 herself between its tall bramble-covered hedges. For "The 
 Barn," as Gabriel had nicknamed his home, was the only 
 habitation along it nearer than the village of Hartle, to 
 which it led. The lane was a very beautiful one, creeping 
 under arched sunlight-slatted trees, down a steep decline 
 to the river, which it crossed by means of an old-fashioned 
 wooden bridge, to climb again with undulating weakness 
 of purpose and many a twisting curve up the hills. Of 
 its goal three or four miles away could be caught glimpses 
 here and there between the trees on the left, in the shape 
 of the Hartle Church spire and half-a-dozen patches of red 
 roof peeping through the nest of green, from which the grey 
 pinnacle seemed to take its rise. 
 
 But Angela had little thought to give to the beauty of 
 her walk. She was a new David advancing to the over- 
 throw of a modern Goliath. The simile had suggested itself 
 to her own mind, and justified to her more than ever her 
 opposition to her husband. He had warned her to put on 
 the armour of philosophical learning, but, like David, she 
 was going forth in simple dependence on the help of God 
 and the knowledge that her cause was His. She carried 
 her pebbles in a sling-like string bag. They consisted of 
 her Testament and two tracts which she had selected carefully 
 
 156 
 
A CELIBATE'S WIFE 157 
 
 as most likely to strike conviction into the heart of an un- 
 believer. They were entitled : " Thou God seest me," and 
 " Sinner, what about Death ? " In her other hand was a 
 bunch of flowers, with which she hoped to soften the heart 
 of the Infidel, and from which she could lead his thoughts 
 to their Maker. 
 
 She felt fully armed for the battle, and walked with elastic 
 step, full of zeal to meet God's enemies. 
 
 But she was not prepared to meet a bull. Against that 
 terrible creature she had not even the protection of a parasol, 
 and when the sound of pattering steps behind her broke in 
 upon her enthusiastic thoughts, and glancing over her shoulder 
 she saw a red steer with wild eyes and sweating hide advanc- 
 ing upon her at a run, her cheek paled, and she thought 
 only of flight. 
 
 It is quite certain that if the need had arisen she would 
 have suffered at the stake, or allowed herself to be devoured 
 by wild beasts in the arena for a question of her belief, and 
 would have borne her martyrdom nobly; but before this 
 sudden commonplace danger all her courage deserted her, 
 and she tore along the road in excited terror, the poor 
 beast following at a jaded but steady trot. Her cheeks grew 
 paler and paler as she realised that the tall thick hedge on 
 either side offered her no loophole of escape. But suddenly 
 to her despairing eye appeared a gate, and she uttered an 
 exclamation of gratitude. God had sent her a gate. 
 
 But her gratitude was premature. Man had put a strong 
 padlock on it, and she tugged at it in vain. She was in 
 despair, and had no energy to continue her flight or even 
 to try and climb the gate, which was a high one. 
 
 It is the locked gates of life which have always produced 
 prayer, and in her hopelessness Angela found her Christian 
 fortitude come back. If it was God's will, she must die, 
 but it was very hard for her to realise that it could be. 
 Such a death seemed so miserably useless and unheroic. 
 The pattering feet were close now. 
 
 ** O Jesu, help me," she said aloud ; and as she spoke, 
 like a divine answer came an athletic figure, vaulting over 
 the gate with one hand. 
 
158 A CELIBATE'S WIFE 
 
 Angela had buried her face in her hands. When she 
 looked up, the stranger she had met at Barnwood was 
 standing in the path of the runaway steer, which had 
 stopped dead. 
 
 *< Poor thing, I do not think it would have hurt you, Mrs. 
 Presyllett," he said, taking off his hat and turning towards 
 her as carelessly as if the terrible red creature was not staring 
 at him with its wild eyes and bellowing. 
 
 He saw the look of apprehension in her face, and a smile 
 flashed into his eyes as he took up his position between the 
 girl and her dreaded enemy. 
 
 " You are afraid of cattle," he said. " I don't think you 
 need be. They are almost always more afraid of us than 
 we are of them. If you had waved your arms it would have 
 gone back. See." 
 
 He turned it back with a cattle-drover's " Shoo ! " and as 
 it walked slowly away, Angela felt a sense of shame seize her 
 at her cowardice. 
 
 The last time that she had met this man she had 
 claimed to fear nothing except neglect of duty, and here 
 he had found her panic-stricken by mere thoughts of 
 her personal safety. He even seemed to deny that her 
 danger had been a serious one, and she hastened to show 
 that it was. 
 
 "A man was gored by a bull only last week at Captain 
 Benson's farm," she said. "I went to speak to his poor 
 widow and children yesterday. I am very grateful for your 
 assistance, and grateful to God who sent you. I felt that He 
 would not desert me in my danger, and He sent you." 
 
 Her piety jarred on him. For a moment, in her fear and 
 her reliance on his protection, she had been so sweetly and 
 beautifully human, and now this set expression was coming 
 back to her face, which struggled with its beauty as her prim 
 dress struggled with her grace of form. The bull dispelled it. 
 
 It had turned back to pursue its runaway course, now 
 that the young man's attention seemed diverted to the figure 
 by the gate. 
 
 "Oh! it is coming again," cried Angela, still unable to 
 restrain a tremor in her voice. " Please drive it away." 
 
A CELIBATE'S WIFE 159 
 
 "I am afraid that I shall have to drive it back to the 
 church," he said, advancing into the road. 
 
 " Oh ! I do not think I shall be afraid if it is once past 
 the hill," she said, sorry to think of him taking so much 
 trouble on her behalf. 
 
 Gabriel smiled again. There was a subtle enjoyment to 
 him in showing this perfect woman that she was not perfect. 
 
 **I am afraid I was only thinking of the poor beast. 
 Have you not noticed how distressed it is ? It must have run 
 away from some drove, I should think, passing the end of 
 the lane, and is feeling hopelessly lost." 
 
 There was a real sympathy for the animal in his voice which 
 appealed to her. 
 
 " I am afraid that I am very selfish," she said. " I was 
 thinking only of myself." 
 
 Her humility was perfectly genuine, and made him feel 
 sorry that he had convinced her of the failing. But the ready 
 reliance she placed on his words made him fear to continue 
 the conversation. Besides, there was the beast. 
 
 " It was only natural," he said, taking his hat off again ; 
 " but I must be thinking of the poor drover at the other end, 
 who is no doubt anxiously wondering where our runaway friend 
 has gone to. Good-bye." 
 
 He started at once driving the steer before him, and she 
 had to call out to him the thanks which she felt she had 
 forgotten to speak before. 
 
 He was turning his head to reply when he stumbled over 
 her bag, which she had dropped in her flight, and he stopped 
 to pick it up. One of the tracts, "Sinner, what about 
 Death?" had fallen out, and he glanced at the title while 
 picking it up to return to her. 
 
 She held out her hand when she had taken it from him. 
 
 " Thank you very much for helping me. I do not know 
 what I should have done if you had not come." 
 
 Gabriel laughed. 
 
 " You would have stood still by the gate, and when you 
 looked up would have found the steer had passed, wonder- 
 ing no doubt what you were standing there for. I am glad 
 if I have been of service to you. Good-bye." 
 
i6o A CELIBATE'S WIFE 
 
 He seemed to her anxious to get away. She would have 
 Hked to ask his name. 
 
 It was not till she was in sight of " The Barn " that her 
 thoughts returned to Gabriel Lyne the infidel, whom she 
 was about to try and convert with the help of a bunch 
 of flowers and two denunciatory tracts — Gabriel Lyne, who 
 would meet her probably with foul abuse, like the infidel 
 in the village. 
 
 As seen from the road the Infidel's cottage had Httle 
 about it to render its title inappropriate, or to explain its 
 attraction to a man of Gabriel Lyne's temperament and 
 tastes. The tall dull red brick wall which enclosed the 
 garden formed the house front by rising a little higher and 
 indenting itself with a whitewashed porch and a couple of 
 tiny windows close under the tiled roof. There was nothing 
 to divide it from the road, and a jealous Highway Board 
 had plucked up the creepers with which the author had 
 hoped to cover its nakedness because their roots had per- 
 force to be planted on the public path. 
 
 The place had to Angela a God-forsaken appearance which 
 fitted it for the occupation of the desperado she was expect- 
 ing to meet, and she knocked timidly, feeling now a need of 
 all her fortitude. The place was more isolated than she 
 had expected, and a natural womanly fear made her heart 
 beat a little more quickly than usual. But worldly fear was 
 unworthy of a servant of Christ, and she struggled to 
 repress it. 
 
 It was a relief to her to find her knock answered by a 
 neatly dressed old woman, who held the door but slightly ajar 
 while she waited for the unusual visitor to state her errand. 
 
 Angela detected a slight surprise on her face when she 
 asked for Mr. Lyne. 
 
 She explained that he was out, had gone for a swim, but 
 might be expected back at any moment. 
 
 " Perhaps you will meet him if you go a little way along 
 the road," she said; for honest Mrs. Marlow had her ideas 
 of propriety if she was housekeeper to an infidel, and a 
 young lady is a young lady even if she does wear a Quaker- 
 like bonnet and the cloak of a nurse. 
 
A CELIBATE'S WIFE i6i 
 
 There was no mistaking the surprise on her face when the 
 young lady answered in her calm voice that she would like 
 to come in and wait for Mr. Lyne. She would have more 
 chance of a quiet talk with the desperado if he found her 
 already installed in his citadel, she thought; and she rather 
 enjoyed the old woman's wonder. It reminded her how 
 superior she was to the rules of conduct which her aunts, 
 for instance, made a religion of She recognised no rules 
 but those which came from Christ, and she did not realise 
 that half her courage was due to the presence of the old 
 housekeeper herself and the respectability which showed 
 itself in her attitude. 
 
 As Mrs. Marlow opened the door wider, not without a 
 show of hesitation, Angela was struck by the first of the 
 surprises which the house had to offer her. The hall was 
 a wide one, and opened out beyond, through a jewel-like 
 Indian curtain of whipcord and beads, into a luxuriously car- 
 peted room full of sunlight, with French windows opening 
 on an extensive lawn. The girl's glance could travel straight 
 through and drink in a sense of sunlight and green fresh- 
 ness, tinged with orientalism by the bead curtain, the Benares 
 hanging lamp, and the Japanese and Indian nicknacks on 
 the walls. Gabriel Lyne had a passion for ferns and Indian 
 work, and it evidenced itself everywhere. The hall table was 
 exquisitely carved teak, and supported a palm fern in a huge 
 Satsuma vase, which blended too well with the general effect 
 of the place to let one think of its costliness. 
 
 Two palm ferns like sentinels guarded the foot of the broad 
 staircase, with its old-fashioned low balustrade squarely built 
 and painted white. 
 
 Nothing could be a greater contrast than the effect which 
 the whole presented to the barn-like exterior of the house. 
 
 It dawned upon poor Angela for the first time that an 
 infidel could be a man of taste. When the old housekeeper 
 ushered her into a long low room on the right, looking 
 out at the end into the delicious old-fashioned garden, it 
 impressed itself upon her that he might also be a man of 
 education ; for one side of the wall was lined with books, and 
 a desk in the window was covered with sheets of manuscript. 
 
 L 
 
i62 A CELIBATE'S WIFE 
 
 The room was a plainly furnished one, and was free from 
 orientalism, but there was an air of old-fashioned cosiness 
 about it which contrasted with the grim austerity of the living- 
 rooms at the Rectory. A great oak beam running across 
 the ceiling helped in its air of homeliness, and although the 
 weather was still far from cold, a fire had been lighted in 
 the wide old-fashioned grate. 
 
 But the pleasantness of the room did not place Angela at 
 her ease. She would have been much more content to find 
 it as squalid as the cottage of the drunken cobbler. The 
 first thing she noticed when the neatly dressed old woman 
 had closed the door behind her was a crowded jar of late 
 roses standing on the open desk, which made her almost as 
 ashamed of her own nosegay as the little Tomtits had been 
 of theirs when they paid their visit to the Rectory. 
 
 The books discomforted her more, as she walked along 
 the side of the room glancing at their titles. Most of them 
 were unknown to her, but those she knew startled her. 
 Farrar's " Life of Christ," Paley's " Evidences of Christianity," 
 which she had heard of and accepted as an unanswerable 
 reply to those who attacked her belief, but which she had 
 not read, even her favourite Thomas k Kempis, were among 
 the learned-looking books on the Infidel's shelves. Angela 
 felt in spite of herself a certain distrust, and something that 
 was almost contempt, for her tracts. If the enemy had read 
 all these devout works, how could " Sinner, what about 
 Death ? " possibly move him. But surely he could not have 
 read them. 
 
 As the doubt entered her mind she caught sight of an 
 open book lying on his desk, and she crossed the room to 
 see what it was that he had been actually reading. It was a 
 well-worn Bible. 
 
 Angela stood staring at it quite aghast. But the example 
 of David came back to comfort her. Her Goliath had 
 wrapped himself in the armour of learning, but she was not 
 counting on worldly weapons. However much he had 
 hardened his heart against divine truth by worldly efforts of 
 intellect, God would show her his weak point, and make his 
 armour of no avail. 
 
A CELIBATE'S WIFE 163 
 
 She had been counting on her own strength after all, and 
 it was well that she should realise how little it was, and place 
 all her reliance on the Giver of all strength. 
 
 She closed her eyes in prayer as she stood, and felt her 
 courage return with it. 
 
 Her conception of the enemy was changing rapidly, and 
 her mind was unconsciously building up a new one with 
 fresh traits to give it the necessary unpleasantness. The 
 drunken cobbler was abandoned as a framework, and in his 
 place her mind adopted some shadowy distorted reflection 
 of John Stuart Mill, mingled with that of Rousseau, Voltaire, 
 and the Devil of " Paradise Lost." She imagined a cold, 
 inhuman, but scholarly face, full of selfishness and pride, 
 indexing a mind which gloried in its intellectual attainments 
 alone, and which held no place for tenderness towards others 
 or care for human welfare. But it was an essential part 
 of her conception still that the Infidel was conscious of his 
 sin, that he was voluntarily defying the God whom he denied 
 with his lips, but whom he feared and believed in while he 
 defied Him. 
 
 She was attributing to him all the motives which would 
 be needed in herself to assume a position like his. This is 
 how we form all our judgments, making our own conscience 
 unconsciously the standard conscience of humanity. It is 
 the undeniable fact that human consciences diifer, which 
 makes all human judgments absurd, and which enables us, 
 by the way, to take Hterally the Christ-uttered command, 
 "Judge not." 
 
 iiut Angela had never thought seriously about the text. 
 There are so many of them, that we can choose those which 
 please us, and which agree with the idea of duty that our 
 natures formulate ; and the girl's mind was dwelling just now 
 on a command to go out into the highways and hedges and 
 compel them to come in. 
 
 Her duty was to compel Gabriel Lyne to come into her 
 own way of thinking, and, in her reliance on divine strength, 
 she was rather pleased than otherwise now to realise that 
 she had not a single plan in her head as to how she should 
 compel him. 
 
i64 A CELIBATE'S WIFE 
 
 God would give her a plan. 
 
 He began to do so while she stood by the desk in the 
 half-open window, through which the scent of wallflowers came, 
 wafted in from the sunny garden. The sunlight crept in 
 sideways and fell across her slender clasped hands, gleaming 
 on the new band of gold round one finger. Her face was 
 turned upwards, as if her devout eyes could pierce through 
 the low ceiling and see the Spirit with whom her soul held 
 communion. 
 
 " Death ! " said the Spirit, " that is the point on which you 
 will conquer. Ask the unbeliever how he will dare to die. 
 Remind him that at any moment his rebellious soul may 
 be called to its account, where no specious reasoning will 
 avail it." 
 
 Her mind became more composed, and the array of books 
 ceased to alarm her. As she imagined the timid atheist 
 trembling at every little danger that remotely threatened to 
 hurry him unprepared into the presence of an offended 
 Almighty, her own contrasting fearlessness exaggerated itself 
 in her mind, and she drew herself erect, with an expression of 
 exalted calm on her beautiful face. 
 
 The outer door was heard opening. Goliath had come, but 
 she was prepared to meet him. Her heart beat a little quicker 
 as she heard the knob turned, but her face was devoutly set, 
 and she showed no outward sign of nervousness. 
 
 Then the door opened, and the devout air melted into a 
 smile of surprise and pleasure. For the man who entered 
 was not the dreaded infidel at all, but the man who in two 
 short meetings had won so much of her regard, and filled her 
 with a trust in his nobility of heart due more to his bearing 
 than to his actual words. 
 
 The pleased surprise in her face was magnified in that of 
 Gabriel Lyne. He had met the owner of the steer at the 
 top of the hill, with eyes as excited and hide as sweating as 
 his beast's, and had walked back slowly home, thinking of 
 the girl he had met, and struggling against the fascination 
 which her apparent outshining honesty and single-mindedness 
 as much as her beauty exercised over him. If it had simply 
 been that she was beautiful, he could have reconciled himself 
 
A CELIBATE'S WIFE 165 
 
 to the fact that her beauty was not for him, as easily as he 
 reconciled himself to the fact that many other pleasant things 
 were unattainable. 
 
 It was more the thought of her loss than of his own which 
 made him revolt against the idea of her belonging to a man 
 like Canon Presyllett. He could see her young enthusiastic 
 nature becoming more and more narrow and warped, instead 
 of expanding, as he knew that it would do so easily under his 
 care, into that of a great- souled woman between whom and 
 himself a perfect sympathy would be possible. 
 
 It was the pity of it that made him revolt against her 
 possession by another man, but he did not deceive himself 
 into thinking that the pity made his interest an impersonal 
 and safe one. With a keen eye always set on his own 
 motives, he realised that if it was pity which made him long 
 for Angela Presyllett, it was her personal attractiveness which 
 gave his pity its strength. 
 
 Quite candidly he admitted to himself that he was inclined 
 to lust after another man's wife. The admission filled him 
 with no shame. He had no infallible moral foot-rule by 
 which to measure the guilt of the feeling. He had no object 
 in deciding whether it was justifiable or the reverse. His 
 only questions with regard to it were practical ones. Would 
 it be advisable to check the feeling or to cultivate it; and 
 if the former, what was the first step to be taken ? 
 
 His logically-justified habit of following a principle rather 
 than an impulse made his decision the matter of a moment, 
 and he had jumped at the opportunity of driving back the 
 runaway steer rather than continue a pleasant interview that 
 was dangerous to him. 
 
 Now, as he came back, he flattered himself that his Nun 
 would be well out of his way on her journey to Hartle; 
 for the thought of her visiting "The Barn" had not once 
 suggested itself to his mind. When Mrs. Gateacre had sug- 
 gested that the Canon's wife might attempt his conversion, 
 he had been reassured immediately by the consideration 
 that her husband would unquestionably veto such a step, 
 and the danger had passed completely out of his mind — 
 too completely for him to find a connection between himself 
 
i66 A CELIBATE'S WIFE 
 
 and the " Sinner " of her tract which he had picked up in 
 the road. 
 
 He had no doubt that she had been warned against him, 
 and her friendly attitude at the gate only told him that she 
 had not yet learnt to associate him with the redoubtable 
 Infidel of Windlehurst. 
 
 " After listening to Presyllett, I expect she has been look- 
 ing for something with cloven hoofs," he said to himself with 
 a grim smile as he opened his own door and walked towards 
 the room where he wrote, hoping that a good spell at his book 
 would help him to obliterate from his mind the pretty picture 
 of a frightened girl by a gate which at present filled it. 
 
 Then as he opened the door a pleased smile flashed in- 
 voluntarily into his face. 
 
 "I had no idea that you were on your way to see me, 
 or I should not have left you," he said apologetically; and 
 Angela smiled. 
 
 "But I have not come to see you. I came to speak to 
 Mr. Lyne, the Infidel." The house and the books had 
 triumphed over the enemy's infidelity and gained him a 
 prefix. " It seems that you know him," she added, thinking 
 that, had she known, she might have left the conversion of the 
 unbeliever in his hands. Her mind had invented quickly a 
 plausible theory to account for her friend's at-homeness in 
 the house. He must have decided to live with the Infidel 
 for a time in order to influence him for God. It was a 
 project which would have appealed to herself — had the Infidel 
 been a woman. She admired him the more for it, and her 
 whole manner spoke approval. 
 
 It was hard for him to speak the word that would turn her 
 smile to condemnation. But her friendliness was dangerous, 
 and he conquered an inclination to continue the conversation 
 without disillusionising her. 
 
 "You are making a mistake about me, Mrs. Presyllett," 
 he said in his pleasantly musical voice. " I ought to have 
 introduced myself, when we first met, as Gabriel Lyne — the 
 Infidel. Won't you sit down ? You have come to reason 
 with me about my wickedness, haven't you, and to read me 
 a little tract called * Sinner, what about Death ? ' " 
 
CHAPTER XVIII 
 
 The brightness died away from Angela's face, as Gabriel had 
 expected, but the incredulity which took its place left no 
 place even for condemnation. It was difficult for her to 
 believe her ears. 
 
 " You are Mr. Lyne ? You an infidel ? " she said slowly, 
 searching into his face as if for some trace of the type she 
 had conjured from her imagination. 
 
 « Why not ? " 
 
 The girl's perfect bewilderment, and his appreciation of its 
 cause, was beginning to make his amusement conquer every 
 other emotion. There was a half-humorous smile in his eyes 
 which rendered him less than ever the Mephistophelian 
 personage she had imagined her Goliath to be. She thought 
 that people must have maligned him, forgetting that all the 
 faults she had expected to find in him had been evolved from 
 her own conception of what an unbeliever must be. 
 
 "You seemed to me such a good man," she said with 
 blunt honesty. " You seemed to take a real interest in the 
 poor at Barnwood." 
 
 " Oh ! I hope that there was no deception in that." His 
 mouth curved pleasantly in his efforts to remain as solemn 
 as his questioner. " I hope nobody has told you that I am 
 a bad man. I always try to behave myself." 
 
 " But you call yourself an infidel." 
 
 " Why not, if I am one ? But won't you sit down, Mrs. 
 Presyllett?" 
 
 She had remained quite motionless from the moment of 
 his revelation, which startled her more than he had expected. 
 He was unaware, of course, of the degree to which she had 
 been idealising him, although the other side of the contrast, 
 
 167 
 
i68 A CELIBATE'S WIFE 
 
 which made his revelation a thunderbolt, was clear to him. 
 He had grown accustomed to people looking for his cloven 
 hoofs, and taking for granted that with Christianity he had 
 thrown off the civilisation which is roughly classed with it, 
 and which to the majority of professed Christians forms their 
 only practical conception of the religion. She sat down 
 mechanically now in the chair he offered her, and he took up 
 his position by the fireplace, where he stood, with one arm 
 on the mantelshelf, looking down at her quizzically. 
 
 Her attempt to convert him was inevitable, he told himself, 
 and the best thing was to get it over, and ended in some 
 definite manner which would prevent her taking any further 
 interest in his soul. Not that there was much fear of their 
 friendship ripening now. 
 
 Angela was still dazed and helpless after her discovery, 
 which made her feel, in spite of herself, that there was 
 something presumptuous in what she had come to do. She 
 tried to concentrate her mind for a moment on God, seeking 
 help from Him. 
 
 " Well ! won't you read me the tract ? I will promise to 
 listen ? " asked Gabriel, as she remained silent. " I can just 
 give you ten minutes, and then I must get on with my work. 
 The sunshine lured me away from it this morning for a swim, 
 to which fact I owed the pleasure of reassuring you in your little 
 encounter with the bull. By the way, I met the drover 
 in a great state of mind about it. The poor beast had been 
 running for miles." 
 
 It made it very hard for her to remember her spiritual 
 superiority when his words reminded her so vividly of the 
 scene in the lane, where she had shown a worldly fear, which 
 contrasted with his perfect unconcern. How could she tell 
 him now that face to face with death all infidels must 
 necessarily be cowards, and only Christians were brave ? She 
 remembered that he had shown an equal sang froid in the 
 fever-stricken house. Although he had admitted that he 
 entered it in ignorance, still after his discovery he appeared 
 to have chatted with the doctor who had just attended the 
 patients, and to have left the place only after ascertaining 
 that the poor people's welfare was provided for. 
 
A CELIBATE'S WIFE 169 
 
 If she could have imagined any motive for his infidelity, 
 any sin or selfishness which he struggled to maintain by a 
 denial of his duty to God, she would have felt strong and 
 denounced it ; but he had impressed her with a sense of his 
 unselfishness and nobility, and she found herself with no 
 emotion but a weak bewilderment. 
 
 " I don't understand how you can help being a Christian," 
 she said, with nothing but inquiry in her voice. " What is 
 it that keeps you from giving your heart to Jesus ? Is it not 
 pride of intellect ? " 
 
 She glanced at the big array of books as she spoke. 
 
 "Oh! I don't think so," said Gabriel cheerfully. "It 
 is not respect for books, if that is what you mean. I find 
 myself disagreeing with them all — Buddhist, Mohammedan, 
 and Rationalist as well as Christian. I simply don't beheve 
 in orthodox Christianity because I don't believe it. It is no 
 good pretending that I do, is it, when it does not seem to 
 me true or religious ? " 
 
 " Religious ! " Angela opened her eyes. " But Christianity 
 is religion." 
 
 "Oh no, it is not," said Gabriel, carried away by the 
 argument in spite of himself. "Religion is a relationship 
 between man and the Creator. It is true or false according 
 as it is founded on a true or false conception of the Creator; 
 and I call Christianity false, and opposed to a truer religion, 
 because it seems to me to be founded on a wrong concep- 
 tion of the Creator altogether, and to fail us as a working 
 motive for conduct in consequence." 
 
 He spoke rapidly, anxious to justify himself by showing 
 that he was driven into his position by a deeper concern 
 for religion than her own, and still anxious for her sake 
 that his arguments should not interfere with her own faith. 
 Now it suddenly occurred to him that unless he wished to 
 set her thinking, his talking at all was absurd, and he broke 
 off abruptly. 
 
 " But it is of no use our arguing about it. You honestly 
 think that Christianity is the true religion. I think with 
 equal honesty that it is a comparatively false one. All the 
 talking in the world won't make it truer or falser, will it? 
 
lyo A CELIBATE'S WIFE 
 
 If I persuade you or you persuade me, the matter remains the 
 same. Don't you think that we had better each be content 
 with what we beheve to be true ? By the way, I wanted to 
 talk to you about that house at Barnwood. I hear that your 
 husband has sold it to the worst rack-renter in the place." 
 
 But Angela was not to be led from the subject. His 
 eagerness to dismiss it seemed to her the first sign that he 
 had shown of weakness, and gave her encouragement. To 
 her the matter was not one that could possibly be dismissed. 
 The stake for her was different from the stake for him. 
 Gabriel could see as the goal of his success only a woman 
 placed in a very uncomfortable position with regard to her 
 surroundings, but to Angela success promised her the salva- 
 tion of a soul poised on the brink of an eternity of torment. 
 How could she treat the argument as a matter of small 
 importance ? 
 
 In her earnestness she rose impulsively and laid her 
 hand on his arm. 
 
 "But have you no fear of offending God? Have you 
 ever realised what a terrible thing it is to neglect the salva- 
 tion which Christ offers you ? Suppose that you are wrong. 
 Just suppose it, and think what it will be to be lost eternally 
 through faith in your own reason." 
 
 He dropped his arm almost rudely, and drew back 
 from her. 
 
 " My dear young lady, does it occur to you as likely 
 that I have omitted to consider the most important con- 
 siderations of the creed you profess ? " 
 
 "But have you prayed to God to assist you in your 
 thoughts ? " she asked earnestly. " Have you asked Him 
 for guidance, or have you trusted blindly to your own feeble 
 intellect? Will you not let me pray with you now, that 
 your eyes may be opened, and that you may see the vital 
 importance of the salvation Christ offers you ? " 
 
 ** Would not that be rather like taking it for granted that 
 you are right and that I am wrong ? " he asked, his matter- 
 of-fact voice contrasting strangely with her emotional earnest- 
 ness. "As it happens, I think with my whole heart that 
 you are wrong and I right. Of course I am acquainted with 
 
A CELIBATE'S WIFE 171 
 
 your arguments," he went on, as she was about to interrupt 
 him. " If you thought, when you came here, that I knew 
 nothing about your creed, it was really very kind of you 
 to come and tell me something about it; but when I 
 tell you that I have been a Christian as ardent as yourself, 
 and have seen something which appears to me honestly to 
 be truer and more religious, you will see that your action 
 was unnecessary. It does not make Christianity any the 
 truer, does it, because you have been taught it and happen 
 to approve of it ? I have read all those books about every 
 side of Christianity by those who accept it," — he waved his 
 hand towards the bookshelf, — "and, what is much more, I 
 have lived as a Christian, and made a sincere effort to adjust 
 all my actions to Christian ethics and beliefs. Now, if- you 
 think that you have seen something in Christianity which 
 I have not noticed, you may alter my views by showing it to 
 me ; but if you are repeating just what you have been taught — 
 well! you are only telling me what I have grown tired of 
 hearing, and the fact that you repeat it does not make it 
 any truer or more convincing. Argument between us is an 
 uneven fight, which for your sake I should like to save you. 
 Perhaps I sound conceited in talking like this, but that is 
 how the argument appeals to me." 
 
 He spoke in a sharp, dictatorial tone, with the idea of 
 ending the discussion and effectually preventing its revival at 
 any future time ; and Angela, who was more affected by a show 
 of authority than by logical claims to it, felt in spite of her- 
 self like a school-girl who had done wrong. It was a feeling 
 against which she struggled fiercely, for the sensation was 
 traitorous to her creed; but the effort was not a successful 
 one, and there was a touch of school-girl petulance in her 
 tone when she answered — 
 
 " If you really think that your ideas are truer than mine, 
 you ought to try and convince me." 
 
 She was telling herself still, in spite of his words, that his 
 creed, if he would but enunciate it, would be sure to have 
 flaws of reasoning which she could detect at once. But 
 another thought had also entered her mind to help in the 
 prompting of her retort. It was beginning to occur to her 
 
172 A CELIBATE'S WIFE 
 
 conscience for the first time that there might be views of 
 Christianity and rehgion different from her own, which she 
 ought to examine and decide upon before being so certain that 
 she had found final and infaUible truth. The one new truth 
 which had impressed her was gained from his manner, his 
 personaUty, rather than from any verbal defence he had made 
 for his attitude — the truth that religious opinions opposed to 
 her own might be held just as honestly and conscientiously 
 as she held hers. She had met with opposition to her views 
 many a time, but it had always been the opposition of will, 
 not of conviction. Even the drunken cobbler, while he 
 abused her God, admitted tacitly by his manner, by his very 
 virulence, that she was really in the right. How could he 
 do otherwise when she had order, virtue, and respectability 
 on her side, and he was fighting for his own way alone ? Just 
 as the moral standpoint of a country is upheld more by those 
 who fail to uphold it in practice but feel shame for their 
 failure, than by those who do not fail, so every established 
 religion owes its chief strength to those who have neither 
 the moral enthusiasm to live by its ethics, or to question 
 the generally accepted opinion that they ought to do so. 
 It is this inert backboneless mass which gives Christianity 
 its strength as a party, and which had furnished to Angela 
 her only idea of non-Christians. Gabriel Lyne had presented 
 her with a new type — a man with moral enthusiasm enough 
 to live by Christian ethics, who honestly thought them un- 
 satisfactory. She could not doubt his honesty. His whole 
 bearing made the attempt impossible. There seemed nothing 
 to account for the difference between their beliefs except 
 honest thought on his part; and her heart cried out to 
 know what his thoughts were, so that she might find them 
 faulty, and justify her position to herself once more. If she 
 could have looked into her own heart, she would have seen 
 that the desire with which she had come to "The Barn," 
 to teach Gabriel truth, had been driven into the background 
 by a desire to justify herself for calling it truth. The change 
 was a rapid one ; but, after all, it is the facts of the universe, 
 and not the arguments of men, which mould our opinions, 
 and poor Mrs. Presyllett was face to face with a new fact. 
 
CHAPTER XIX 
 
 " If you really think that your ideas are truer than mine, you 
 ought to try and convince me," said Mrs. Presyllett, seating 
 herself again in the chair Gabriel had given her, and trying 
 hard to feel brave and confident. 
 
 But all real confidence was on the man's side, and the 
 knowledge of his strength made him afraid to use it. There 
 was a personal temptation in her appeal or challenge, which- 
 ever it was, and he steeled himself against it, faUing back 
 again on his sense of humour for support. 
 
 " Now, you wish me to admit that your own methods of 
 spreading truth are the only right ones, Mrs. Presyllett," he 
 . said, looking down with his quizzical smile. "If you are 
 right you must invade my house, if I am right I must invade 
 yours, eh ? Luckily my creed enables me to see something 
 of divinity in human impulses and conventions, as you cannot, 
 and I can accept it as a divine duty that I ought sometimes 
 to mind my own business. I am really not blaming you 
 for coming here," he added quickly, as her face flushed 
 . scarlet. " I have enjoyed talking to you, and I admire the 
 conscientiousness with which you obey your creed. If I had 
 any blame, it would only be for the creed which absolutely 
 forbids you to mind your own business. My creed is different, 
 and my business is the making of books." 
 
 He glanced towards the manuscript on his desk meaningly. 
 The ten minutes he had promised her were more than gone, 
 and her deliciously human blush had made him more anxious 
 than ever to end the interview. Already it promised to give 
 him weeks of working and digging in order to master the 
 revolt in him against her marriage to the gaunt ascetic. 
 
 Angela rose unwillingly. 
 
 173 
 
174 A CELIBATE'S WIFE 
 
 " I do not wish to interrupt you any longer," she said. 
 " Perhaps it was wrong of me to take up so much of your 
 time. I thought that you were quite different." She spoke 
 awkwardly, twisting her hands together nervously. "But I 
 should like very much to hear more of your views. I cannot 
 help thinking that there must be some terrible flaw in them 
 to prevent your calling yourself a Christian. Perhaps you 
 will let me come again when you are not so busy." 
 
 "So that my views may have the benefit of your criticism ? " 
 
 " No, it is not that " Angela flushed again, and laced 
 
 her slender ungloved fingers more nervously than ever. 
 
 He saved her the effort of saying what her object was, by 
 going on, his voice toning down the bluntness of his refusal. 
 
 " I am afraid that I shall not have time. If you want to 
 convert me, I am sure that it is impossible. My views have 
 grown from yours, and may grow to something else, but 
 nothing can grow back again." 
 
 " And suppose I wish to learn ? " 
 
 The question took some asking, and was worded even 
 before she had definitely decided to herself whether it was 
 more than an experimental hypothesis to see what he would 
 answer. 
 
 She had grown to consider her soul of such account in the 
 world, that she expected him to jump at the slightest hope of 
 converting her to his views, and his answer chilled her. 
 
 " I am afraid that I still have not time to teach you, Mrs. 
 Presyllett. My publisher tells me that there are at least ten 
 thousand people waiting for the expression of my views. I 
 am writing another book against orthodox Christianity, you 
 know. And while I am speaking to you, I might be speaking 
 to the ten thousand, and earning my own living at the same 
 time. I am eager to spread what I believe to be truth, but 
 the fact does not make me unpractical. I do not hold that 
 it is religious to be unpractical." 
 
 "You have written other books of your views," she in- 
 terrupted in her eagerness. " Will you let me read them ? " 
 
 " With pleasure — on one condition." 
 
 " What is that ? " 
 
 " That your husband consents to your borrowing them." 
 
A CELIBATE'S WIFE 175 
 
 "Canon Presyllett? Oh! I am sure that he will never 
 consent." 
 
 " Then I am afraid that I cannot lend you the books." 
 
 The girl's face flushed almost angrily. She had grown 
 into a comfortable habit of dismissing the Rector entirely 
 from her thoughts the moment she was out of his presence 
 and free from the spiritual distraction of his worldly opposi- 
 tion. It was very irritating to have his supposed autho- 
 rity thrown in the way of her will like this, by a man, too, 
 whom she had considered free from all the restraints of any 
 conventionality. 
 
 " But if you believe that your books are true, surely Canon 
 Presyllett has no right to decide whether I should hear the 
 truth or not ? " she asked, too eager for his opinion to think 
 of the impression he would receive from her words with 
 regard to her relationship with her husband. 
 
 " I have not given much thought to the question of a 
 husband's rights and authority," he said with a smile. "I 
 am not married, you know. I was only thinking that if 
 you adopted my views it would have the effect of placing 
 you and your husband at variance, and I do not care to 
 take the responsibility of doing that. When two people are 
 married, I think that there should be complete confidence 
 between them, and I should hesitate to interfere with that 
 confidence." 
 
 It was on the tip of her tongue to say that there was no 
 confidence or sympathy between herself and her husband; 
 that they were not really married. There was something in 
 the man's personality, in his perfect honesty of thought and 
 freedom from conventional bias, which made her feel as she 
 had never felt with anybody but Cecile — with her husband 
 least of all, — that she could tell him anything. Perhaps it 
 was only the remembrance that the secret of her spiritual 
 compact was not entirely her own which restrained her. She 
 bit her lip, and took up her sling to go. 
 
 "Good-bye, then," she said, holding out her hand to him. 
 " I hope that we shall meet again." 
 
 "Although I am an infidel, Mrs. Presyllett?" he said, 
 with the half-humorous smile in his eyes, as he shook her 
 
176 A CELIBATE'S WIFE 
 
 offered hand with conscientious perfunctoriness. " I do not 
 think that the Rector would Hke to hear you say that. You 
 will tell him of our interview ? " 
 
 " Certainly." 
 
 The mention of her husband jarred on her again, and she 
 walked through the quaintly beautiful hall and out into the 
 dusty road, revolting against the empty tie which made her 
 a wife in the eyes of the world, and raised obstacles to her 
 fuller knowledge of Gabriel Lyne. It seemed to her that 
 with their single-minded honesty and unselfish enthusiasm 
 for truth, it was impossible for them to exchange views without 
 coming to some point of agreement. Her creed might become 
 a little different, a little higher. She had abandoned the idea 
 that it must necessarily be the infalUble standard creed by 
 which all others must be judged ; but at the same time she 
 had no doubt that its principles were true, and she felt that 
 she could make the Infidel see that they were true. If they 
 could only exchange views, he must see the need of prayer, 
 the need for accepting the salvation of Christ, that only 
 through Him can we approach or please God. She was 
 sure that he would see the truth plainly, if she could only 
 talk to him more ; and she would save his soul while he was 
 helping her to become less proud and opinionated. The 
 prospect was alluring, but, like a black shadow, her nominal 
 marriage to Canon Presyllett barred' the way. 
 
 She was angry with the Infidel for allowing it to do so. 
 It was a mere conventional scruple, to which she would have 
 expected him to rise superior. 
 
 But, of course, her soul was of no more account to him 
 than that of one of the ten thousand readers waiting for his 
 book. The thought piqued her, and her natural conceit rose 
 in arms against it. He considered her a child, and thought 
 she could not help him. Perhaps she could not. But oh 
 if she could! To influence such a man, and make him a 
 leader for Christ instead of an opponent. It was a divine 
 ambition. It was a duty, for every moment that she was 
 remaining silent his influence was affecting ten thousand 
 minds. To make that influence a Christian one was surely 
 the worthiest task she could set herself for God. 
 
A CELIBATE'S WIFE 177 
 
 She was glad when she reached home to find that the 
 Canon was out, and to lunch alone. Her husband's presence 
 would have distracted her thoughts, and she shrank from 
 seeing him yet, with a mental and physical repulsion. 
 
 After lunch she had intended to continue her evangelical 
 visitation, but the humbling influence of her morning's inter- 
 view had made her more anxious to learn than to teach, and 
 she trudged instead into Barnwood to order a copy of each of 
 Gabriel Lyne's books. If the Infidel admitted her husband's 
 right to interfere in the matter, Angela did not, and she asked 
 for the books w ithout a twinge of conscience. 
 
 Meanwhile Gabriel Lyne was hard at work on the volume 
 which was to follow them. 
 
 When Angela had left the cottage inwardly chafing at 
 the scant interest he took in her, he had picked up the 
 ministerial bunch of flowers which she had brought as an 
 aid to his conversion, but had forgotten. He kissed them 
 impulsively. 
 
 " Oh ! God," he said, falling on his knees, with an in- 
 voluntary use of the words and attitude of strong emotion 
 inherited from his Christian days. " Oh ! God, she is a 
 hundred times more honest and humble and beautiful than 
 I thought her, and I want her for my own. I want her, body 
 and soul." 
 
 He was kissing the flowers that she had gathered and 
 carried, and the violence of his passion frightened him. 
 
 "Damn it, this won't do," he said aloud, struggling for 
 self-control; and rising from his knees, he forced himself to 
 roll and light a cigarette, with which he marched up and down 
 the room, trying to think calmly over his position. 
 
 " I am in love with another man's wife," he said aloud, 
 " and I could get her if I tried. She does not love Presyllett. 
 Her manner shows it, even if love were possible between 
 them. She is tied by her soul, not her heart; and I have 
 her soul in my hand, if I choose. She is so honest, so 
 indifferent to policy and conventional opinion. She would 
 see truth at once if I showed it to her, and then I should 
 be her God." 
 
 He could see it all very plainly and truly. The real 
 
 M 
 
178 A CELIBATE'S WIFE 
 
 similarity between their natures, which had made him fall 
 half in love with his beautiful Nun at the moment of their 
 meeting, enabled him to read her soul. She was himself, 
 himself in the days of his enthusiastic adherence to Chris- 
 tianity ; and he knew her as he knew himself. He could see 
 the moment when marriage would cease to be more than a 
 human institution to her, and understand how, in the first 
 breaking of the chains of imagined divine command, she 
 would defy the conventions built up by men less pure than 
 herself, and become a law to herself. But he himself had 
 passed beyond that point, and, in casting off the idea that 
 any law or custom was " specially divine," had begun to look 
 for a divine principle in each one. Finding inspiration from 
 the Creative Mind in the instincts which have grown in men 
 with their growing experience and understanding of creation, 
 he attached a certain authority to the customs and laws 
 which their experience has evolved. His attitude made him 
 yield to every law of society until he had discovered its prin- 
 ciple, and by following the principle purely could raise 
 himself above the law. He did not believe with Canon Pre- 
 syllett that mankind had abandoned promiscuity and polygamy 
 through obedience to a supernaturally revealed dogma, through 
 fear of a supernaturally revealed punishment, or in hope of 
 a supernaturally revealed reward ; but the very fact that they 
 had been influenced by natural motives threw the whole ex- 
 perience of mankind into the scale on the side of monogamy 
 when he weighed it with any other form of union between 
 the sexes, asking himself which was best for mankind, and 
 if for mankind, for himself. His whole habit of morality de- 
 pended upon this practice he had of considering himself as a 
 unit of mankind, not as a special being with particular diffi- 
 culties and particular rules of conduct which would be wise 
 for himself but unwise for everybody else. 
 
 It was this practice of thought which helped him now, as 
 he walked up and down the low-ceilinged room calmly con- 
 sidering, over a cigarette, the advisability of winning another 
 man's wife. 
 
 Judged as a special individual case, the idea appealed to 
 him with almost overwhelming strength. 
 
A CELIBATE'S WIFE 179 
 
 Putting aside the purely selfish consideration that Mrs. 
 Presyllett was the very woman he wanted for a wife, the only 
 one probably for whom he would ever feel the passion that 
 swayed him, he could not doubt that her union with him 
 would be a much happier one for her than her union with 
 the ascetic. Her manner had told him, in the few brief 
 moments that Presyllett was mentioned between them, what 
 he had anticipated already from his knowledge of the Canon's 
 character and hers — that no real sympathy or affection could 
 exist between them. The fact would make the Canon's loss 
 very small if his wife were stolen. If he had married her for 
 her money, he was welcome to keep it ; if he had married her 
 for passion, there were other women in the world for him, 
 without the need for him to appropriate a personality which 
 he could not value and which Gabriel himself could. If he 
 wanted only a district visitor and permanent curate, every 
 unmarried lady over thirty in his parish would rush for the post, 
 even if he had been obliged to obtain a divorce from his wife 
 before he could offer it. Public opinion never frightened Lyne. 
 Social life did not appeal to him, and solitude with a woman he 
 loved would be perfect happiness to him. Of the few friends 
 he valued, most would accept as cheerfully his right to make 
 a social experiment as they accepted his right to defy religious 
 opinion. The Squire and his wife might not be so lenient, 
 but then, of course, he would leave Windlehurst, and live 
 abroad probably. 
 
 It was only when he tried to view the idea as a principle 
 that his thoughtfulness for others as well as his own desire 
 ceased to urge the step. Was he prepared to lay it down 
 as a principle that when a man sees two people unsuitably 
 married he has a right to step in and break the marriage tie ? 
 Why not ? Why did the idea repel him even before he had 
 begun to consider it ? Was it merely prejudice ? 
 
 Gabriel rolled himself another cigarette and lighted it. 
 
 " I ought to have thought all this out in cold blood before 
 it began to affect me," he said aloud. It was hard for him 
 to consider the question impartially when the beautiful eyes 
 of the woman he loved were before his mind, appealing to 
 him to set her free from her hard useless creed and the 
 
i8o A CELIBATE'S WIFE 
 
 inhuman ascetic that it had transformed for a fatal few weeks 
 into a hero. It was hard to think that she must be bound 
 to him till death divided them, and still — to destroy the per- 
 manence of marriage. Mrs. Gateacre's oration came back to 
 him, with her views about the growth of married happiness 
 and compatibility. It was surely the knowledge that marriage 
 was permanent which made two people grow to one another, 
 when the first idealisation of courtship was ruined by pro- 
 pinquity. And then there was the breaking down of family 
 life. 
 
 " Great Scott ! " exclaimed Gabriel, dropping his cigarette 
 in the startling suddenness with which the thought had sug- 
 gested itself, " there may be a child already, to be born with- 
 out a father if I take her away from him, or to live perhaps 
 without a mother after a legal wrangle, to live always as a 
 terrible reminder to her of a mistake, a child partly hers and 
 not part mine. The thought would ruin her life ; and as for 
 the child, poor thing ! No, it is not to be thought of." 
 
 From his own special case he had read back to the prin- 
 ciple which makes men insist so strongly on the permanence 
 of the marriage tie. It is the children who demand that the 
 step, once taken, however inadvisedly, shall never be drawn 
 back. 
 
 Of course there might not be a child, appealing to him 
 unborn not to separate its father and mother and rob it of 
 a parent; but if not, it was only an accident, and Gabriel 
 Lyne could never find justification for any step in an acci- 
 dent. Whatever was right for him must be right for every- 
 body, and he bowed to the inevitable. 
 
 The suggestion which Squire Gateacre had made to him 
 with regard to the Canon's marriage had appeared to him 
 so absurd, so inconsistent with what he could read from the 
 clergyman's face of sensuality and passion, that it had never 
 taken root in his mind; he had actually forgotten it, and 
 admitting the marriage as a true and ordinary one, he found 
 himself compelled to consider it sacred. 
 
 Angela's flowers were lying on the table where he had laid 
 them reverently. He seized them now, and tossed them 
 into the fire. 
 
A CELIBATE'S WIFE i8i 
 
 Then he lighted another cigarette. 
 
 " The question is whether I ought to leave Windlehurst at 
 once," he said once more, aloud. 
 
 He was very unwilling to do so, for his book had to be 
 finished quickly, and moving always unsettled him for work. 
 
 " I think that I may leave my safety to the Canon," he 
 said after a long pause, and a grim smile played on his lips. 
 "She has promised to tell him of our interview. He will 
 take care that it is not repeated." 
 
 Then he seated himself at his desk, and calculated the 
 number of days which it would take him to finish his work. 
 With hard toil it could be done in five. 
 
 By way of burning his boats as far as possible, he scribbled 
 off a note to his impatient publisher pledging his word to 
 deliver the manuscript in that time. 
 
 Then he wrote and booked himself a passage on board 
 a liner starting for the States on the sixth day. It was a 
 trip he had been promising himself when he had finished 
 his book, and it appeared to him now in the light of a 
 deliverance from a great temptation. 
 
 How could he guess that the woman he loved paid no 
 heed to her husband's commands when they opposed the 
 dictates of her conscience, and that already she was seeing 
 the finger of God directing her once more to undertake the 
 conversion of the Windlehurst Infidel ? 
 
CHAPTER XX 
 
 In the principal bookseller's shop in Barnwood, where Angela 
 ordered Gabriel Lyne's works, there were two counters, and 
 if the Rector's wife had not been too full of her purpose 
 to glance round the place when she entered, she would 
 have seen the petite figure of Miss Iphigenia standing at the 
 other desk. 
 
 The little Tomtit had been glad to find the place empty, 
 and there was a trace of nervousness in her chirrupy voice 
 as she asked for a cheap edition of Ouida's " Moths." For 
 in Windlehurst Ouida was still on the borderland of re- 
 spectability. 
 
 " I beg your pardon," said the shopman, for the nervous 
 chirrup had been too low for him to catch her words. To 
 Iphigenia's guilty conscience there was something of incre- 
 duHty and condemnation in his voice, and a flush came into 
 her cheeks. 
 
 " A book called ' Moths,' " she repeated. " I think that 
 it is by Ouida. I wish to make a present of it to a friend." 
 
 The gratuitous information was not quite false. She was 
 buying the novel for Prudence, although they both would 
 read it. 
 
 This giving of presents between the sisters was a care- 
 fully arranged method by which they gave themselves luxuries 
 without any feeling of selfish extravagance. The presenta- 
 tions were made in turn, and each sister kept careful account 
 of the sum she had expended, expecting the other to balance 
 accounts exactly by her next offering of friendship. Iphigenia 
 was working off a debit of half-a-crown, and intended to sup- 
 plement the book with half-a-dozen green figs, of which she 
 was inordinately fond herself. Prudence was more partial 
 
A CELIBATE'S WIFE 183 
 
 to sweets, and generally gave her sister chocolates in con- 
 sequence. 
 
 The shopman had a loud voice, and repeated the name 
 of the book with a cruel distinctness, which made the little 
 Tomtit perk her head round apprehensively. 
 
 She almost uttered an exclamation of dismay when she 
 caught sight of Angela's grey cloak. Luckily, however, her 
 niece did not appear to have noticed her, and Iphigenia 
 hurried through her purchase in such haste that she forgot 
 to ask for the discount. The Barnwood bookseller was in 
 a state of transition with regard to that latest blessing of 
 civilisation, threepence in the shilling, and gave it only to 
 the earnest inquirer. It was the first time that Miss Iphi- 
 genia had sacrificed it, but she gained her reward in having 
 the reprehensible volume stowed away in her bag by the 
 time that Angela happened to look round. 
 
 Miss Gaydon was always glad to meet her niece, the wife 
 of Canon Presyllett, in public, and she greeted her effusively. 
 Perhaps she talked a little more quickly than usual to 
 prevent Angela asking what she was buying. 
 
 "I suppose you have been purchasing some devotional 
 book, dear ? " she asked brightly, her fear of her niece's ques- 
 tion unconsciously prompting her own 
 
 " I am ordering copies of all Mr. Gabriel Lyne's works," 
 said Angela calmly, enjoying, in spite of her devoutne^s, a 
 sense of pleasure at shocking her aunt. " The man has 
 just gone to see if they have any in stock." 
 
 Miss Iphigenia's qualms of conscience with regard to 
 Ouida disappeared. Ouida had been sanctioned by many 
 very good and well-to-do people in the village, but the 
 Infidel's books ! Nobody with any claim to respectability 
 could read such things, surely. 
 
 Her round eyes opened widely in shocked surprise. 
 
 " My dear child, you really cannot know what they are," 
 she said primly. " I understand that they are not fit books 
 for any lady to read. One of them at least is perfectly 
 shocking. Miss Butcher was telling me about it. Oh no, 
 of course she would not think of reading it, but a friend 
 of hers, who had read a review of it in one of the most 
 
t84 a celibate S WIFE 
 
 respectable Church papers, told her about it; and really — 
 well! the title is enough coming from such a man." The 
 little woman sank her voice to a shocked whisper. "It is 
 called 'Personal Purity.' Of course you are married, dear, 
 and may think that you can read books which I should not 
 dream of doing myself; but to ask for such a work publicly 
 in a shop. It is shocking. Surely the dear Canon " 
 
 '^Oh no. Canon Presyllett does not know that I am 
 getting the books," said Angela calmly. " I am afraid that 
 like you, dear Aunt Iphigenia, he is very unjustly prejudiced 
 against Mr. Lyne." 
 
 " But, my dear Angela, the man is an open and proclaimed 
 infidel." 
 
 " That does not prevent his being an honest and good 
 man," answered Angela, wondering herself at the enthusiasm 
 of her defence. " I have just been having half-an-hour's 
 talk with Mr. Lyne at his house, and it has not only made 
 me anxious to read all he has written, but has made me 
 quite sure that I shall find nothing in his books that is not 
 prompted by an earnest and sincere desire for truth." 
 
 Her aunt gazed at her in speechless horror, little guessing 
 that in every sign she showed of baseless prejudice against 
 the Infidel, Angela was seeing a picture of her own past 
 attitude, and feeling more and more ashamed of it. A feeling 
 that she had been unfair to the man in the past, made her 
 all the more eager to defend him now. 
 
 "What have you heard against Mr. Lyne except that he 
 holds opinions different from our own ? " she asked ; and the 
 little Tomtit held up her hands. 
 
 " Hundreds of things. That he never enters a church ; 
 that he goes boating on Sunday, and is trying to open 
 the reading-room on that day, and make everybody as 
 bad as himself; that he writes blasphemous and immoral 
 books." 
 
 " I am sure that his books are not immoral or wilfully 
 blasphemous, and the rest is simply saying that Mr. Lyne 
 holds different opinions from ourselves, and has the moral 
 courage to act according to them in spite of what people 
 think of him." 
 
A CELIBATE'S WIFE 185 
 
 The conversation was interrupted by the return of the shop- 
 man, who had been hunting in his store-room. 
 
 " I am afraid that I have sold the books I had in stock," 
 he said to Angela. " I generally keep them. The fact that 
 Mr. Lyne is a resident in the neighbourhood, and takes such 
 a share in philanthropic matters in the town, creates a demand 
 for them, I suppose. I understand that in spite of his views 
 he is a very generous man, and does a great deal of good 
 among the poor." 
 
 He went on chatting about the Infidel, feeling that it was 
 safe to mention his good points, even to a Rector's wife, after 
 she had taken so much interest in his writings. 
 
 " I hear," he went on, " that he is building a model work- 
 men's dwelHng at the other end of the town." 
 
 Angela's face flushed with enthusiasm, for the announce- 
 ment was news to her, and raised Gabriel Lyne even higher 
 in her estimation. 
 
 " I suppose he is doing it as a sort of penance," said 
 Iphigenia ; and her niece's eyes flashed dangerously. But the 
 bookseller's presence prevented her answering. She turned 
 to him to make inquiries about the house which was being 
 built. 
 
 It was just the project which she had set before herself to 
 carry out in concert with her husband, and the feeling of 
 repulsion which was beginning to accompany every thought 
 of the Canon came over her strongly as she remembered 
 how he had dispelled her dream. She found herself wonder- 
 ing whether the man who in spite of his non-Christianity was 
 really doing God's work would let her take a share in it. 
 
 " Do you know whether Mr. Lyne is a wealthy man ? " 
 she asked ; and she felt a distinct regret when the bookseller 
 answered — 
 
 " Very, I believe. His novels have a large sale, and there 
 is a greater demand for his philosophical works than there 
 usually is for books of that character." 
 
 She left the shop wishing that he had been poorer, so that 
 her fortune might have assisted him in building the house, 
 and she listened with deaf ears to the long exhortation which 
 her aunt felt bound to administer to her. 
 
i86 A CELIBATE'S WIFE 
 
 " I know that you consider your work very important, 
 dear," she said, " visiting all sorts of queer people, and treating 
 them all, respectable or otherwise, as if they were on the same 
 level; but I cannot help thinking that you might be better 
 employed looking after your home like other married ladies. 
 I am sure there are plenty of texts in the Bible — although 
 I cannot call one to mind at this moment — to show that a 
 married lady's place is in the house, looking after the meals 
 and all that sort of thing. Prudence and I both think it a 
 strange sort of Christianity which allows you to leave every- 
 thing to Mrs. Graeme — such an unpleasant and taciturn 
 woman too. I often think of what my poor dear mother 
 used to say — that a woman cannot go far wrong in her duty 
 to God if she keeps her husband happy and well-fed, and with 
 decent clothes on his back ; and I am sure that poor dear 
 Pa could never be seen with so much as a hole in his socks. 
 And you leave even the mending of the Canon's underhnen 
 to the housekeeper. It may be very religious of you, but 
 it does not seem womanly to me or to Prudence. I am 
 hoping that you will look at things in a different light before 
 your children come, or I do not know what will become of 
 them." 
 
 Angela shuddered. Her face flushed. 
 
 "I shall have no children," she said quickly, almost in- 
 stinctively. 
 
 The old maid misunderstood the words. 
 
 "You have not been married very long yet, dear," she 
 remarked sagely, and flushed herself to think that she had 
 spoken like a person who knows anything about the secret of 
 birth, and not as the innocent, ignorant, unmarried girl which 
 theoretically she ought to be. 
 
 Angela did not answer, and the little Tomtit went back 
 to the subject of the Canon's housekeeper. The desire to 
 see her sent away and the management of the Rectory handed 
 to her own charge as her niece's instructor was the real motive 
 of her exhortation, although she did not for a moment realise 
 the fact herself. 
 
 " Prudence and I both think that you would set a more 
 Christian example to the parish if you dispensed with Mrs. 
 
A CELIBATE'S WIFE 187 
 
 Graeme's services and began to take a little more interest in 
 your own home," she went on, warming to her subject. " Of 
 course you would find it rather strange at first, but both 
 Prudence and I would give you what help we could, living 
 for a little while with you, one at a time of course, while you 
 got used to management. I should be pleased to take the 
 first turn." 
 
 She chirruped along energetically as they walked down the 
 street together, encouraged by the fact that her niece was less 
 dogmatic than usual, less ready to quote texts and the example 
 of Jesus and the saints in support of her want of domesticity. 
 
 Angela was glad to find that the little woman had still her 
 shopping to do, and to part company with her at the fruiterer's 
 when Miss Iphigenia went for her green figs. 
 
 She walked home very slowly thinking all the way, thoughts 
 that had never entered her mind before. She began by com- 
 paring Gabriel Lyne with other people — with her aunt, with 
 her husband, and with Cecile. 
 
 Everything she had seen in the Infidel's character inclined 
 her to idealise him into a hero. Before she knew who he 
 was, she had looked upon him as a model Christian, the real 
 sympathy of their natures making her throw a glowing light 
 over the trifling signs he had given her of his interest in 
 the poor, of a desire to consider others rather than himself. 
 When the revelation of his name came to her, the contrast 
 between what he was and what she had expected had only 
 intensified her admiration for his personal character. An 
 infidel always has this advantage over a professed Christian, 
 that while the actions of the latter are compared with the 
 ideal he professes to set before himself and generally found 
 wanting, every good and humane deed of the non-Christian 
 is considered a work of supererogation, and gains in lustre 
 by comparison with the hopeless depravity we expect from 
 him. Against this dark background of expected depravity 
 Gabriel Lyne stood out like an angel of light in the girl's 
 eyes. Every professed Christian unconsciously selects from 
 the list of Christian virtues two or three which appeal specially 
 to his nature, and which he allows to overshadow the others. 
 That is why there is such variety of character and action 
 
i88 A CELIBATE'S WIFE 
 
 among even ardent and honest adherents of the creed. What 
 uniformity there is owes its existence to the generally accepted 
 but erroneous idea that common-sense is a Christian virtue, 
 and the fact of its general adoption as first in the Hst. 
 
 Angela owed her singularity to the fact that she subordi- 
 nated common-sense to the three great virtues of honesty, 
 courage, and compassion. She had the honesty to act as 
 her creed made her claim to act, the courage to defy public 
 opinion when it would prevent her doing so, and a com- 
 passion which made her take to heart the worldly sorrows 
 and spiritual dangers of others. 
 
 So far, the first virtue had made her a fanatic, the second 
 a prig, and the third a busybody ; and it was Gabriel Lyne's 
 clear reaHsation that all these lamentable results were due 
 to her supposed possession of infallible truth which made 
 him admire her through her faults, and burn to release her 
 from the bondage of a creed which perverted all her nobility 
 of character into deplorable channels. 
 
 It was these three virtues which made up Angela's con- 
 ception of Christianity, and the fact that she saw them clearly 
 in Gabriel Lyne made him an ideal, while it rendered his dis- 
 avowal of Christianity incredible to her. 
 
 How much greater his honesty was than Canon Presyllett's ! 
 When the Infidel spoke, she felt that his words came from 
 his heart. The Canon's arguments she had learnt to look 
 upon as mere excuses intended to persuade her into some 
 action which he wanted her to perform for some selfish 
 motive quite independent of his arguments. Too often it was 
 so; but Angela, with a woman's impulsiveness, exaggerated 
 her husband's faults no doubt, as well as Lyne's virtues. She 
 could almost worship the courageous disregard of public 
 opinion which had made him openly proclaim himself an 
 infidel in face of the universal prejudice against the name 
 to which she herself had foolishly lent support in the past. 
 She compared his independence with the trembling timidity 
 of her aunts, who dared not obey their consciences unless it 
 was respectable and ladylike to do so, and did not stop to 
 consider that Gabriel suffered very little from his social 
 ostracism from Windlehurst society. 
 
A CELIBATE'S WIFE 189 
 
 His compassion for the poor appealed to her most of all, 
 and made him nobler even than Cecile, whose retirement to a 
 convent had always appeared to her friend rather selfish when 
 there were so many of Christ's poor in the world waiting 
 for help and instruction. 
 
 It seemed to her as if she had found the ideal Christian 
 whom she had vainly sought since her arrival in England 
 for guide and friend, only to discover that he denied his 
 Christianity. It was a great shock to her faith : for the first 
 time she saw goodness and Christianity dissociated. Before, 
 she had always thought of them as one and the same, and 
 had needed no argument for her creed when she saw it 
 opposed only by evildoers. The association in her mind was 
 a natural one, for the people she had loved and admired 
 most had all been devout Christians — her mother, Cecile, and 
 all the friends of her youth. The most devout among them 
 had always been also the most kind, and sympathetic, and 
 unselfish. 
 
 But here was a man who she felt to be kind, and sympa- 
 thetic, and unselfish, and who denied the truth of Christianity. 
 
 If Christianity and goodness were not the same thing, what 
 was Christianity? What was it that she believed differently 
 from Gabriel Lyne, and why did she believe it ? 
 
 The Infidel had acted unwisely in refusing to lend his 
 books to her, if his only object had been to prevent her 
 abandoning her creed; for, as we have seen, his refusal only 
 promised to defer her reading for a couple of days, and 
 meanwhile the absence of any tangible point of difference 
 between them had driven her back to an examination of 
 her own belief and her reasons for holding it. It is a 
 dangerous experiment for an honest-minded Christian who 
 will accept no excuse for his faith which would not equally 
 excuse a Buddhist retaining his Buddhism, or a Mohammedan 
 his Mohammedanism. 
 
 The first thing that she realised was that she had never 
 been a true Christian herself, and her heart leaped with 
 relief at the thought that God had sent her this meeting 
 with Gabriel Lyne to show her the fact and purify her faith. 
 She was becoming anxious to find justification for herself 
 
I90 A CELIBATE'S WIFE 
 
 after the spiritual disturbance which had followed her meet- 
 ing, and to feel slight qualms as to whether the Canon 
 might not have been right in forbidding her to talk to the 
 Infidel; but now she saw the great flaw in her Christianity 
 from which the disturbance had sprung, and her journey to 
 ** The Barn " became once more the leading of her Lord. 
 
 She had trusted too much in works, and Christ was re- 
 minding her that faith in Him was everything and works 
 nothing. "■■■ She had been able to confuse the two in her 
 mind in exhorting evildoers; for their faith in Jesus had 
 always in her mind been the beginning of a cleaner life, and 
 she had persuaded herself that they were to be saved by faith, 
 when in reality she was expecting them to have eternal life as 
 a reward for the good works that followed it. In order to 
 show her her mistake the ever-kind God had sent her a man 
 whose works were perfect, but who had no faith in Jesus. 
 
 Her admiration for him showed her surely that faith was 
 nothing to her, and she tried to steel her heart against the 
 man, and think of him once more as a wilful offender against 
 God, deserving of the eternal pains of hell. 
 
 But it was impossible to think of Gabriel Lyne as a wilful 
 offender. If he would not say that he believed in Jesus 
 even to save his soul, it was only because he did not believe 
 in Him, not that he wouldn't. And according to her creed 
 he must be damned everlastingly because of an opinion that 
 he conscientiously held. It was easy to think of people being 
 punished for want of faith, when that want was accompanied 
 as a matter of course by all kinds of moral wickedness ; but 
 it was very hard to think of a man being damned for want 
 of faith that arose from conscientiousness. She imagined 
 her husband, with his mental dishonesty, his ingrained selfish- 
 ness and egotism, sitting in bliss, with Jakes the butcher 
 perhaps, if he died repentant, — and he was very repentant 
 and believed in Jesus completely' after every debauch, — she 
 could see them looking down complacently on the tortures 
 of a man whose life had been so much hoHer than their own, 
 and whose only fault had been honest misconception. 
 
 Her soul rose in involuntary revolt against her God. How 
 could He be just if this thing could be ? 
 
A CELIBATE'S WIFE 191 
 
 Her own revolt shocked her, and she tried to pray that 
 she might see His justice even in what seemed to her worldly 
 eyes unjust ; but as she stopped in her walk along the lonely 
 road, clasping her hands and looking upwards, Gabriel Lyne's 
 view of prayer came to her, and made her ask only that she 
 might believe what was true and feel what was right. 
 
 When she reached home she entered by the back entrance, 
 feeling that she must prepare herself, and understai;id the 
 hundred new thoughts which had come to her since the 
 morning, before meeting her husband and telling him of her 
 interview with the Infidel. Her sense of infallibility had 
 been shaken, and she shrank from the reproaches which she 
 knew he would heap upon her in the place of sympathy or 
 assistance. 
 
 Through dread of meeting him she hurried to her own 
 room, and spent the rest of the day there, fasting, but too full 
 of her new thoughts to feel conscious of hunger. 
 
CHAPTER XXI 
 
 That night Angela dreamed a dream. It was the outcome 
 of her day's experience — her wishes, the vague remembrance 
 of a Sunday-school book in which the good little girl con- 
 verted the wicked infidel by asking him where the first egg 
 came from, and an empty stomach. But to Angela it was 
 the direct inspiration of her God. 
 
 She had managed by much prayer and Bible-reading to 
 make peace with Him before going to sleep, and, with the 
 humility and subjection which He expects from His children, 
 had reconciled the idea of His justice not with Gabriel Lyne's 
 damnation, but with his liability to damnation if he died in 
 his unbelief. She had justified her God by the remembrance 
 that Gabriel Lyne was not dead yet, and by assuring herself 
 that the just God would never allow honesty to lead a man 
 finally to unbelief. She evolved for her purpose a hypothesis 
 which she had invented for the purpose of meeting her doubts. 
 She had been brought face to face with the fact that a man 
 can honestly and conscientiously reject the need of Christ's 
 salvation, but she had never met with any instance of a man 
 who had died while honestly rejecting it; and she justified 
 Deity by telling herself that He would not let Gabriel Lyne 
 die until he had seen the truth, that finally honest thought 
 must end in belief 
 
 Instead of altering her conception of Deity and Divine 
 truth to meet the facts of life, she invented the facts of life to 
 meet her conception of Divine truth. 
 
 Her invention was so satisfactory that she felt sure it 
 must be true. It enabled her to master the terrible doubt 
 of Divine justice which had distressed and shocked her; it 
 justified hef interview with the Infidel by leaving her with 
 
A CELIBATE'S WIFE 193 
 
 faith not only unshaken, but purified by her rejection of her 
 old trust in "works." It gave her renewed certainty that 
 God had chosen her as the humble instrument in His 
 hands for saving the unbeliever's soul, and new hope of 
 success. Because, by her invented data, his belief had be- 
 come inevitable. 
 
 The hope inspired her dream. 
 
 She was back in the cosy low-ceilinged room at " The Barn," 
 no longer startled and feeble, but strong with the sense of 
 Divine aid and a Divine mission. It was the Infidel who 
 looked disturbed. In her dream Angela felt inspired, and she 
 was convincing him of sin. 
 
 " You think that to lead a good life and do good works 
 will justify you in the eyes of the Creator in whom you 
 believe," she said, — and when she woke she remembered 
 almost the exact words she had spoken, — " but even if your 
 life is better than that of any man living, think how far 
 short it must fall of what the Creator demands from each of 
 us. Think how many thousands of opportunities you have 
 necessarily omitted of doing good, through thoughtlessness, 
 or because they have never occurred to you. Think of the 
 time that you have spent on yourself, on the enjoyment of 
 mere worldly delights, the delights of secular reading," — she 
 waved her hand towards his bookshelves, — " the delights of 
 artistic taste," — she pointed towards the hall with its many 
 treasures. " How much thought and money have you not 
 spent on yourself, with no thought of serving your Maker." 
 
 The Infidel looked conscience-stricken. 
 
 " I have done more good with my money than most men," 
 he said. " I am now building a model dwelling for the poor 
 at Barnwood." 
 
 " That is true," said Angela. " Compared with other men, 
 even declared servants of our Lord, like Canon Presyllett, 
 you seem the noblest man I have known. But comparison 
 with other men does not help to justify us before God. 
 He demands that we should be perfect as He is perfect, 
 and in His justice He must punish every faUing short of that 
 perfection." 
 
 " Looked at in that light," said the Infidel, becoming more 
 
 N 
 
194 A CELIBATE'S WIFE 
 
 conscience-stricken than ever, " I deserve a terrible punish- 
 ment. I had been telling myself that it was enough to be as 
 good as humanly I could be, and that the Creator could not 
 judge me more harshly than others when my performance was 
 better than theirs." 
 
 " That was only human pride," said Angela severely, in her 
 dream. " But, if God is just, then He must punish every 
 falling short of absolute perfection." 
 
 " Then how am I to escape His just punishment ? " said 
 the Infidel ; and in her dream Angela smiled. 
 
 " Jesus has taken your punishment. You have only to 
 cast your sins upon Him and they are all forgiven." 
 
 The dream ended very prettily, with the Infidel on his 
 knees ; and Angela woke, the fortunate recipient of a Divine 
 inspiration. 
 
 She was surprised to find it broad daylight. Her spiritual 
 struggle had kept her awake long into the night, and when 
 at last it was ended, her sleep had been the sleep of thorough 
 exhaustion, and lasted long after her usual hour for rising. 
 
 Just as she was ascertaining the fact from the watch under 
 her pillow, there came the sound of a low tap at her door. 
 
 " Well ? " said Angela, sitting up in bed ; and the Canon's 
 voice came from the other side of the locked door — 
 
 " I am just going out, dear, and wanted to speak to you 
 first." 
 
 " I will dress quickly and come down to you," she said. 
 " I have overslept myself this morning." 
 
 There was a moment's pause, and then the clergyman's 
 voice came in a low tone, which she could barely catch — 
 
 " I cannot wait. Could I not come in for a moment ? " 
 
 She sprang out of bed and walked to the door with naked 
 feet, the bosom of her nightdress open. But she had no 
 idea of turning the key. 
 
 " I am afraid you cannot," she answered in her quiet, calm 
 voice. " What is it you wished to say ? " 
 
 " It will have to wait unless you can open the door," he 
 said, less pleasantly than he had spoken before. 
 
 "Or if it is very important, I shall be down in five 
 minutes," answered Angela cheerfully. But the Canon's 
 
A CELIBATE'S WIFE 195 
 
 retreating footsteps told her that he had not waited for 
 her reply. 
 
 She called after him. It would be convenient to tell him 
 from her point of vantage that she had seen the Windlehurst 
 Infidel and was about to pay him another visit. It would at 
 least prevent the unseemly scene of the previous day, when 
 he had dared to try and coerce her by brute force into obeying 
 his wishes rather than the dictates of her conscience. 
 
 The Canon's opposition to almost all her plans had not 
 yet had the effect of driving her to the least subterfuge or 
 concealment. As before her marriage, it was easier for 
 her to be defiant than underhanded. She insisted on fol- 
 lowing her own path, but she had taken care to inform the 
 Canon always in what direction her path led her. She 
 knew that he objected to her visiting Lyne, but she no more 
 thought of visiting him secretly than of consenting not to 
 visit him at all. 
 
 It was too late for her to make her announcement now, 
 however. Either the Canon did not hear her, or he was in 
 too much of a temper to come back ; and when, exactly five 
 minutes later, Angela ran downstairs, he had left the house. 
 
 His departure seemed to the devout girl a special kindness 
 of God, who thus removed an obstacle that would lie in the 
 way of her mission. By the time that she returned from 
 « The Barn " she might be able to tell the Canon that Gabriel 
 Lyne was a Christian, and thus remove altogether his opposi- 
 tion and his prejudice against her seeing him. 
 
 Flushed at the prospect, Angela hurried through her cold 
 meal, scribbled a note for her husband when he returned, 
 saying where she was going, and that she might be late for 
 lunch, and started on her second attempt. 
 
 She turned up by the decaying finger-post less than half- 
 an-hour after the Rector had passed it by on his way to the 
 village, his mind still full of his wife's revolt. 
 
 It was a sin against God. It must be conquered. 
 
 And more and more clearly it appeared to him that the 
 only way to the girl's will was through her heart; that she 
 would never become the docile pliant piece of furniture that 
 religion demanded until he had made her love him. And 
 
196 A CELIBATE'S WIFE 
 
 with Canon Presyllett, as we have seen, love was passion, 
 and passion was love. 
 
 Calmly, and with the assumed sanction of Divinity, he told 
 himself that he must rouse in his cold wife the passion he 
 felt himself, and the satisfaction of which he admitted to be 
 unclean. 
 
 His first effort, he saw, had been disastrous. His attempt 
 to show his power by an exercise of brute force had only 
 alienated her more than ever, and he determined to humble 
 himself, and beg her forgiveness for his roughness — not that 
 he felt the least need for her forgiveness, or the least qualm 
 of conscience for what he had done, but simply as a means 
 to an end. 
 
 It was to make his apology that he had gone to her room, 
 thinking that if he could cheat her into giving him audience 
 there, it would be the first step towards destroying that 
 reserve which stood like a cold wall at present dividing 
 them, and baffling his efforts to mould her like clay in his 
 hand. 
 
 He walked along the village street thinking of his plans, 
 not uncheerfully. He had failed so far, but there was plenty 
 of time before him, and, with Angela always under the same 
 roof as himself, it was strange if he could not win her in time. 
 He had been too austere with her in the past, but he would 
 relax austerity for a Uttle while and show her only kindness. 
 The righteousness of the end he had in view would even 
 make excusable the sin of tenderness. 
 
 Her threat on the previous evening to return to Lilac 
 Lodge and disclaim the slender tie which bound them 
 together made him more than ever eager in the pursuit of 
 her. From the first, when he had begun to realise her inde- 
 pendence of thought and her carelessness of public opinion, 
 he had been afraid that she might make him ridiculous in 
 the eyes of the world by proclaiming the emptiness of their 
 marriage; and the real liberty of action she enjoyed in spite 
 of his opposition had been greatly due to his fear. 
 
 He was beginning remotely to question whether the need 
 for strengthening the tie might not justify a single lapse of 
 perfect purity; but the girl's independence of will, while it 
 
A CELIBATE'S WIFE 197 
 
 vaguely suggested the idea, prevented it at the same time from 
 taking practical shape. 
 
 Canon Presyllett was too economical with his holiness to 
 justify to himself a lapse which was not practicable. He 
 avoided an attitude of thought which threatened to leave him 
 again without credit or gratification. While his wife kept 
 him aloof, he was too prudent to think of his aloofness as 
 other than a Divine duty. 
 
 The first instinctive jealousy of Gabriel Lyne, which had 
 made him lose his self-control when his wife proposed visiting 
 the Infidel, had toned down a little on maturer thought. 
 Judging Angela by himself, he could not understand her ever 
 getting beyond a fierce antipathy to a man who held opinions 
 utterly opposed to her own — opinions which, if true, would 
 make her every action ridiculous ; and he did not expect Lyne 
 to be very much attracted even by a beautiful woman when 
 she went to him only to sternly denounce his sins. 
 
 One interview could not harm her, but he must take care 
 that her ardour did not throw her too much into the man's 
 company ; for, crediting both Lyne and Angela with natures 
 like his own, the Canon could not ignore the fact that the 
 Infidel was physically a perfect type of manhood, and Angela 
 beautiful. He hoped that his wife would leave the unbeliever 
 alone when she found how powerless she was to argue with 
 him ; for, in spite of Angela's declaration that she was going 
 in the strength of God and relying on prayer, it never 
 occurred to him for a moment to imagine his wife affecting 
 the Infidel's mind. Canon Presyllett believed as little in the 
 power of prayer as Gabriel Lyne himself, when it was the 
 prayer of a person acting in opposition to himself. 
 
 He walked along the village street with his eyes on the 
 ground, until he was roused from his thoughts by hearing his 
 name, and glancing up, found that the two old maids of Lilac 
 Lodge were coming out of the rebellious grocer's across the 
 road, and were waving their umbrellas with one accord to 
 attract his attention. 
 
 He crossed the road at once, intending to remonstrate with 
 them upon deahng with a tradesman who could get up an 
 irreligious petition in opposition to the minister of his parish. 
 
198 A CELIBATE'S WIFE 
 
 The old maids began to talk in unison, however, before he 
 reached them. 
 
 " We were just on our way to the Rectory to see you," 
 said Miss Prudence. 
 
 '* How fortunate that we did not miss you," said Miss 
 Iphigenia, trying to drown her voice. " I wish that you would 
 put that umbrella down, Prue, and not keep waving it in that 
 ridiculous manner. The Canon has seen us." 
 
 " We have decided to speak to you on a matter of rather 
 grave importance," said Miss Prudence, ignoring her sister 
 and tripping forward. 
 
 It was the first complete sentence that the clergyman had 
 managed to catch. 
 
 " Then I am very pleased to have met you," he said, in 
 the sweetly modulated voice which, came so easily to him 
 when he was sure of his hearers' attention and admiration. 
 " Should you like me to return to the Rectory with you, or 
 can you be telling me what this grave matter is while we 
 walk ? I was going to the other end of the village." 
 
 " Then we will go with you," they said together. 
 
 " We were anxious to find you alone," said Miss Prudence. 
 
 "Because it is about Angela," explained Miss Iphigenia; 
 and they ranged themselves one on each side of him, making 
 him look taller and gaunter than ever between them, each 
 trying to gain his ear. 
 
 He gathered with some difficulty that they thought it their 
 duty to make to him a revelation about his wife which they 
 felt certain he could not know. 
 
 "Perhaps if Miss Prudence would tell me all about it," 
 he suggested mildly, "I should be able to listen more 
 closely." 
 
 The senior Tomtit flushed with pleasure, and cast a glance 
 of triumph at her sister. 
 
 "But Prudence does not know anything except what I 
 have told her," said Iphigenia; and a dispute seemed immi- 
 nent, when Prudence remembered the Canon's sermon on 
 giving way. The effect of it had not been entirely lost, and 
 her sweet Christian methods had been reserved for occasional 
 use when they could be made effective. An occasion had 
 
A CELIBATE'S WIFE 199 
 
 arisen now for displaying them in the presence of the clergy- 
 man, and Prudence turned to her sister. 
 
 "You shall tell Canon Presyllett if you wish, dear. I 
 am only too glad to be saved such a painful task. Tell 
 him, dear." 
 
 " Certainly, dear, if you would rather not," said Iphigenia 
 as sweetly ; and, feeling that she had robbed her sister of an 
 expected moral victory, she proceeded with enthusiasm to 
 pour her startling tale into the ears of the unsuspecting 
 clergyman. 
 
 According to Miss Iphigenia, the Rector's wife had admitted 
 to her that she was on terms of quite close intimacy with 
 Gabriel Lyne, that she admired him very much, and expected 
 to find his works all true when she read them. 
 
 "She would not have admitted it if Iphigenia had not 
 caught her in Crawford's ordering a copy of every one of the 
 man's horrible books," put in Prudence, whose sweet resigna- 
 tion and sense of pain at the revelation could not enable her 
 to keep silent long. 
 
 " My wife has ordered Lyne's books ? " said the Canon 
 incredulously. 
 
 " Every one of them," said both the old maids together. 
 
 " And paid for them," said Prudence. 
 
 "Two pounds ten shillings," added Iphigenia, speaking 
 quickly, to get the crowning fact out before her sister. 
 
 They had reached the gate of Lilac Lodge by this time, 
 and the ladies stopped at the gate. 
 
 Prudence invited the Canon in. A sense of the pro- 
 prieties always made Iphigenia leave this task to her sister, 
 since Prudence was the elder, if only by twenty minutes. 
 
 Canon Presyllett did not accept the invitation, however. 
 The revelation had come like a thunderbolt to him. Instead 
 of making allowance for a little excited exaggeration on the 
 old maids' part, his jealousy made him think they were under- 
 stating the friendship between their niece and the Infidel, and 
 he looked upon Angela's announcement of the previous day 
 as a simple subterfuge intended to conceal from him the fact 
 that she had already met Lyne many times. He was anxious 
 to get back to the house and confront her with his know- 
 
266 A CELIBATE'S WIFE 
 
 ledge of her infamy ; every moment that the old maids kept 
 him from his purpose with their contending chatter added 
 to his wrathful indignation, and made it more difficult to 
 hide from them the shock which their information had given 
 him, and which pride urged him to conceal. 
 
 His voice had lost little of its modulation as he thanked 
 them for what they had told him. 
 
 "Angela informed me that she had an ambition to win 
 Lyne back to the fold," he said, " but I did not know she 
 was thinking of reading his works. I consider with you that 
 it is rather injudicious, and will talk to her about it." 
 
 " I thought that it would be best to speak to you privately 
 about it," said Iphigenia, pleased by his thanks. 
 
 "We talked it over together when my sister came over 
 from Barnwood," put in Prudence hastily, "and I said at 
 once that it was our duty to tell you, seeing that Angela 
 admitted ordering the books without your knowledge." 
 
 " I am sure that she could not know what they are," said 
 Iphigenia, her conscience smiting her a little for the energy 
 with which she had indicted her niece. "I am quite sure 
 that Angela is good and conscientious at heart, and that only 
 her exaggerated ideas of duty have made her mix herself up 
 with the man at all. Prudence and I always said that her 
 ideas would lead her into some strange position before long. 
 After all, a woman's true place is in the home." 
 
 "And what Angela really wants," interrupted Prudence, 
 seeing what was coming, "is to interest herself more in 
 domestic duties. I am sure that she would be less taken 
 up with these quixotic ideas if " 
 
 " Mrs. Graeme left the Rectory," chimed in Iphigenia 
 quickly. " I have said so to Prudence all along. Of course 
 she might find domestic duties rather strange at first, but we 
 should be very glad to help her." 
 
 " We could come to the Rectory in turn for a little while," 
 interrupted Prudence. " I should be most happy to help the 
 child — for she is Httle more than a child — at first." 
 
 " And I," said Iphigenia, " I would take the first turn, if 
 you like. Of course she would have a good deal to learn, 
 but with a little patience I am sure that she would make 
 
A CELIBATE'S WIFE 201 
 
 a good housewife, and her duties would give her less time 
 for meddling with opinions which cannot help hurting her." 
 
 The Canon thanked them rather impatiently, and bid them 
 " Good-day." Iphigenia, watching his gaunt figure disappear 
 rapidly in the direction from which they had come, noticed 
 that he had evidently given up his intention of making a 
 call farther along the road. 
 
 " I hope that we have not made him angry with poor 
 Angela," she said apprehensively ; but when she glanced round 
 her sister was gone. She had hurried indoors to secure the 
 top hat-peg. 
 
 "I hope that he will not be very severe," said the little 
 old maid again with a sigh, as she followed indoors, " but of 
 course we can trust the dear Canon to be gentle and for- 
 giving with her." 
 
 She would have found salve for her accusing conscience 
 less readily, after her exaggerated indictment, if she could 
 have read the thoughts which were in the clergyman's mind 
 as he hastened home. 
 
 When he reached the house he walked straight into his 
 study and rang the bell. 
 
 " Will you tell Mrs. Presyllett that I should like to speak 
 to her at once." 
 
 " The mistress has gone out," said Jane ; " she left a note 
 for you, sir." 
 
 The Canon read it through hastily, his gaunt hands quiver- 
 ing with the intensity of his anger when he grasped its contents. 
 His wife had shamelessly confessed that she was going to visit 
 the Infidel again. 
 
 He crushed the paper in his hand, and strode out of the 
 house in a white heat. 
 
CHAPTER XXII 
 
 After Angela Presyllett had left him on the previous day, 
 Gabriel Lyne had managed to get through a considerable 
 amount of work. Although he preferred shirking a fight 
 with temptation, he had plenty of resolution when fighting 
 was necessary, and he kept Angela very successfully out of 
 his mind, by sheer dogged determination, while he slashed 
 away at his manuscript, doing four thousand words at it 
 between noon and midnight. 
 
 Usually he went to bed early, for holiness meant health 
 with him — health of body as well as of mind and heart ; and 
 the greatest and most useful mental achievement did not 
 justify to him a flabby muscle or a disordered liver. 
 
 But to-night he felt that he must tire himself out before he 
 went to bed, for fear of keeping himself awake thinking, and 
 he wrote until he was tired enough to drop asleep the moment 
 his head touched the pillow. When he woke at five he rose 
 at once, hurried down to the river for a swim before break- 
 fast, which to-day he took with Mrs. Mario w in the old- 
 fashioned kitchen, in dread of a moment's loneliness. 
 
 He chatted brightly throughout the meal on subjects that 
 interested her, the price of food chiefly, and the advantages 
 of one soap over another. Mrs. Marlow pinned her faith on 
 the good old-fashioned yellow soap, and Gabriel, true to his 
 principles, thought that there was nothing in the world in 
 which improvement might not be looked for, and urged her 
 to try something new, in hopes that its inventor had found 
 the improvement that was wanted. 
 
 After breakfast she got ready to go to Barnwood for the 
 week's marketing, and Gabriel settled down once more at his 
 desk. He had luckily reached the most interesting part of his 
 
A CELIBATE'S WIFE 203 
 
 task, and he worked with as much enthusiasm as on the 
 previous afternoon and evening. 
 
 It was not till he had laid down his pen at the end of a 
 chapter, and was lighting a cigarette to think out the exact 
 arrangement of the next, that he became conscious of a knock 
 at the outside door. It seemed to him that he had been 
 vaguely conscious of the sound for some minutes, but had 
 been too engrossed to think of trying to explain it. 
 
 Mrs. Marlow had already started on her expedition, and 
 he rose to open the door himself, expecting as he passed 
 through the hall that he would only enjoy an interview with 
 the usual tramp for his trouble. With his hand on the knob 
 he stopped to relight his cigarette, which was burning badly, 
 and he had it in his mouth when the door opened at his 
 touch, and he stood face to face once more with his beauti- 
 ful Nun. 
 
 His eyes involuntarily flashed a smile of welcome, and he 
 took the hand she offered him. 
 
 " Have you been knocking long ? " he asked in his courteous 
 voice. " I was so engrossed writing that I am afraid I may 
 have kept you waiting." 
 
 Angela smiled. 
 
 " 1 have been knocking so long, that I should have thought 
 you were out if I had not met your housekeeper in the lane. 
 She said I should find you at home." 
 
 She did not refer to the reluctance with which the good 
 old soul had given the information, nor the meaning manner 
 in which Mrs. Marlow had added that the author was quite 
 alone. 
 
 "I am very sorry," he said. "I did not think that I 
 should have the honour of another visit from you." 
 
 He was still blocking up the doorway, and had made no 
 sign of inviting her to enter. 
 
 But Angela was acting under direct inspiration, and she 
 could not allow any unwiUingness on the unbeliever's part, 
 much less any scruple of worldly propriety, to stand in her 
 way and make her lose a chance of securing his eternal 
 welfare. 
 
 " May I come in and talk to you about our religious 
 
204 A CELIBATE'S WIFE 
 
 differences ? " she asked directly, in her calm devout way ; and 
 Gabriel shrugged his shoulders. 
 
 " I am quite alone in the house, Mrs. Presyllett." 
 
 " That will give us all the better opportunity for a quiet 
 talk," she said ; and Gabriel felt rather taken aback. He had 
 expected the announcement to save him any further trouble 
 in avoiding a serious interview. 
 
 The politeness which was instinctive with him prevented 
 his saying bluntly that he did not wish for it, and he fell back 
 on his work for an excuse. 
 
 " I am very busy." 
 
 " I do not think I should take many minutes of your time, 
 but if you like I will call again." 
 
 The struggle was an uneven one between the man whose 
 unfailing courtesy was part of his religion, and the woman 
 whose creed made surrender appear to her in this case little 
 less than a sin. 
 
 If he sent her away now without convincing her con- 
 clusively that her attempt to convert him was hopeless, she 
 would only keep him in a state of excitement looking for her 
 appearance daily. 
 
 " I did not think that your husband would like you to have 
 another interview with me," he said. " Is he not afraid, Mrs. 
 Presyllett, that, instead of you converting me to his views, I 
 may convert you to mine ? " 
 
 Angela had been prepared for some such questioning after 
 the affair of the books, and had been preparing herself for it. 
 
 " Canon Presyllett gives me complete liberty of action," she 
 said calmly. It was true that the liberty was sanctioned only 
 by the Canon's agreement before the wedding, and that he 
 was always trying to break the agreement, but it seemed to 
 Angela the simplest means of telling anybody of the terms on 
 which she was bound to her nominal husband. Perhaps she 
 had adopted a little of the Canon's method in order to make 
 the statement appear to herself perfectly truthful. A touch 
 of casuistry is well-nigh unavoidable when any certain course 
 must be admitted right and pursued at all costs, and she never 
 doubted for a moment that God required her to talk to 
 Gabriel Lyne in spite of any scruple he might raise. 
 
A CELIBATE'S WIFE 205 
 
 Seeing her determination, and unable to make himself shut 
 the door in her face, Gabriel bowed to the inevitable. 
 
 " Let us have our talk in the garden, then," he said, leading 
 the way through the hall, and the richly furnished drawing- 
 room, and out of the open French windows to the pleasant 
 lawn. " It is a pity to miss any of the sunshine, when we shall 
 soon be losing it." 
 
 He led her to a rustic seat under a fine old apple-tree 
 at the other side of the lawn, but remained standing himself, 
 with one arm stretched up to a bending branch laden with 
 fruit. " Will you have one of these Ribstons ? They have 
 almost the real old-fashioned flavour, that seems to be dis- 
 appearing nowadays." 
 
 Angela declined, in a rather stately manner. Was the man 
 laughing at her, to expect her to talk about Jesus while 
 munching an apple ? 
 
 The very suspicion helped her to control her thoughts, and 
 conquer that feeling of inferiority which the Infidel inspired 
 in her, as if she were a child, and he a man who had passed 
 through childhood and understood all her thoughts. 
 
 He was looking down again at her with his half-amused 
 smile. 
 
 " And so you have discovered the great flaw in my reason- 
 ing, the important principle of Christianity which I have 
 overlooked," he said. 
 
 " I think that God has revealed it to me," answered Angela 
 devoutly, and she tried hard to feel that serene sense of 
 inspiration which had come to her in her dream. She would 
 have found it easier if the man facing her had been more like 
 the conscience-stricken creature of her vision. In her vision 
 there had been no amused twinkle in the unbeliever's eye, no 
 overpowering sense of friendly indulgence. 
 
 « Well ? " 
 
 " I am afraid that you are attaching too much importance 
 to a good life," she said. " You think that it will justify you 
 in the sight of your Creator. But even if your life is better 
 than that of any man living, think how far short it must fall 
 of what the Creator demands from each of His creatures." 
 
 She spoke rapidly, anxious that her dream should be 
 
2o6 A CELIBATE^S WIFE 
 
 reproduced as exactly as possible, and fearing from his face 
 that he was about to interrupt her ; but Gabriel listened quite 
 patiently. 
 
 "Think how many thousands of opportunities you have 
 necessarily omitted of doing good," she went on, her voice 
 faltering a little, as it had certainly not faltered in her dream, 
 " through thoughtlessness, or because they have not occurred 
 to you. Think of the time you have spent on the enjoyment 
 of mere worldly delights, on your garden, on your purely 
 secular reading, with no thought of serving your Master." 
 
 The Infidel did not look conscience-stricken. 
 
 " Well ? " he said simply. 
 
 " Compared with other men, even professed Christians, your 
 life appears noble. I have heard of your model dwelling at 
 Barnwood " 
 
 " Oh ! that is simply a business speculation," he interrupted 
 quickly. " I expect to make ten per cent, on my capital. I 
 believe in a good investment, like your husband. The only 
 difference between us is that I like to indulge my sympathies 
 at the same time, and pick my investments more carefully in 
 consequence ; but pardon me interrupting you. Please go on." 
 
 Angela felt less inspired than ever, but she clung to the 
 argument of her dream. 
 
 "Comparison with other men does not justify us before 
 God. He demands that we should be perfect, as He is 
 perfect, and in His justice He must punish every falling short 
 of that perfection." 
 
 " Well ? " said Gabriel again, as she waited for him to 
 become convinced of sin, and the polite tolerance of his 
 manner did not change. 
 
 " If God is just He must punish every falling short of per- 
 fection, and you admit that, however good your life, you have 
 done many things that you ought not to have done." 
 
 " Hundreds," he said laconically. 
 
 " Well ! God has offered you a way of escape through His 
 Son, and you have only to accept it. If you do not, your 
 punishment is inevitable. Oh ! let me beseech you to believe 
 on Him, to throw your shortcomings on Him. Why don't 
 you believe in Him ? " 
 
A CELIBATE'S WIFE 207 
 
 "That is not the question, Mrs. Presyllett," he said, 
 smiling. " The question is, why I do not accept the view 
 of the Creator, and His expectations, and His justice which 
 you have been taught to hold. But do you not think, as I 
 said before, that argument between us is rather a waste of 
 time? You have a great many duties to perform, I know, and 
 although I think it very kind of you, of course, to devote so 
 much thought 'to me, still I don't like to think of taking up 
 so much time which you might be giving to the sick and 
 distressed. It cannot possibly lead to anything." 
 
 But Angela showed no sign of abandoning her mission. 
 How could she do so, when she saw in him a soul on the 
 brink of an eternity of torment ? 
 
 " But I trust that, with God's help, it will lead to your 
 eternal salvation. To the poor and sick I can give at best 
 only a little temporary relief, but if, with God's help, I can 
 show you the need of believing in Christ, my words will be 
 the means in His hand of saving you from eternal ruin. Is 
 not your very unwillingness to argue with me a sign that in 
 your heart of hearts you believe that argument must end in 
 your conviction? Is it not that you are afraid to'iose a 
 pleasant belief which frees you from any feeling of responsi- 
 bility to God, and which leaves your own intellect the final 
 criterion of truth?" 
 
 Gabriel smiled grimly, and shook his head. 
 
 " I am only afraid of robbing you of a pleasant belief, Mrs. 
 Presyllett, a belief which enables you to know that you are 
 right without argument, and assures you of a grand reward 
 after death for holding your views in spite of the fact that 
 they are illogical and irreligious. You must really not come 
 here to debate any more. Apart from its uselessness, your 
 visits will soon be commented on, and expose you to un- 
 pleasantness. Village society is horribly censorious." 
 
 " I have no care for village opinion when it would prevent 
 me doing my Maker's work," she said, with her jealous pride 
 of independence. 
 
 " And it never occurred to you to wonder whether / have 
 any care for village opinion ? " 
 
 " I thought that you were above making yourself a slave 
 
2o8 A CELIBATE'S WIFE 
 
 to the opinions of others," she said dubiously; and her 
 speech was pleasant flattery to him. 
 
 But he persisted in his determination to stop the visits 
 which he found so disturbing. 
 
 " I never let the opinions of others deter me from doing 
 what I think to be right," he said quietly, " but you must 
 remember, Mrs. Presyllett, that I have expressed nothing but 
 disapproval of your visits. As means to my conversion to 
 Christianity, they are useless ; as an opportunity of proselytis- 
 ing you to my belief, I cannot accept them without the 
 sanction of your husband. If you will pardon me telling you 
 the blunt truth, I do not think that it is quite advisable for 
 a young and beautiful woman to visit a man of whom she 
 knows so little. You may despise the ordinary rules of 
 conduct, but it is only because you attach an importance, 
 which I do not, to a certain code of laws contained in a certain 
 book. You must remember that I look for a certain amount 
 of inspiration in all laws that have ever been created, and 
 only despise them when I find them inconsistent with my 
 belief that there is but one Creator of everything, of etiquette 
 as well as self-sacrifice and transcendental morality, of human 
 impulse and human nature as well as of asceticism." 
 
 He kept on talking in pity for her, and regretted that he 
 had spoken so bluntly. For a flush of shame had swept to 
 her neck and then left her perfectly pale. 
 
 He had been counting on her piety protecting her from 
 the full force of his condemnation, but his words had stabbed 
 deeply at the modest woman beneath the marble crust, and 
 before his decisive enunciation of right and wrong all spiritual 
 support left her, she forgot the direct inspiration which she 
 vainly thought had led her to the Infidel's conversion, and 
 stood naked in her own sight as a woman who had acted 
 indiscreetly. 
 
 She rose abruptly from the rustic seat and stepped dizzily 
 towards the house. 
 
 " I am sorry that I came, if you think it wrong of me," she 
 said in a cold hard voice ; and Gabriel's trembled a little with 
 pity for her as he tried to lessen her regret, assuring her that 
 he understood the motive which actuated her visit. 
 
A CELIBATE'S WIFE 20^ 
 
 In the middle of a sentence he stopped abruptly, and 
 sprang forward to catch her in his arms. For Angela's life 
 of devotion, with its constant toil and scant food, had left 
 her too little strength to bear the shock of a sharp human 
 emotion, and she had fainted. 
 
 He had to carry her a dead weight in his arms to the 
 seat from which she had risen, and a hundred mad impulses 
 of passion and regret for his brutality swept over him as he 
 held her. 
 
 Why could he not kiss back colour into her marble cheeks, 
 telling her that he loved and honoured her, and that only his 
 love had made him cruel ? 
 
 Her eyes opened as they reached the seat. 
 
 ** Wait here and I will fetch you some water," he said in 
 his ordinary quiet practical voice. "You have fainted; the 
 sunshine has been too strong for you, I am afraid. Let me 
 put my coat under your head, and then you can lay it back 
 more comfortably." 
 
 He turned, in his white shirt-sleeves, towards the house, 
 and in his excitement had almost reached the open French 
 windows before he saw that they were blocked by the gaunt 
 figure of Canon Presyllett, who was staring across the lawn 
 at his wife, with a face livid with passion. 
 
 " Hound ! " he hissed between his clenched teeth as Gabriel 
 approached ; and the muscular Infidel pushed him uncere- 
 moniously out of his way to enter the house. 
 
 " Don't be a fool," he said in his quick decisive tone. 
 " Mrs. Presyllett has fainted. Run upstairs and get a pillow 
 out of one of the rooms for her head, while I fetch a glass 
 of water." 
 
CHAPTER XXIII 
 
 Canon Presyllett had hurried straight from the Rectory to 
 " The Barn " in a white heat. In his wife's frank note he 
 saw only the artifice of a woman who, finding herself dis- 
 covered, makes a pretence of candour. She saw, no doubt, 
 that her close intimacy with Lyne would soon reach her 
 husband's ears in a little place like Windlehurst, and had tried 
 to be beforehand with gossip by pretending that she was about 
 to meet him for the purpose of undertaking his conversion. 
 He began to ascribe to the sinister influence of the Windle- 
 hurt Infidel everything in Angela's character which displeased 
 him. Lyne must have encouraged her to thwart his every 
 wish. Perhaps half her pretended missions had been merely 
 a blind to enable her to see more of the unbeliever. The 
 jealous clergyman was ready to believe anything. 
 
 Just by the church he met Squire Gateacre in his dogcart, 
 and, in his eagerness to verify what the old maids had told him, 
 stopped the vehicle to talk. 
 
 " Does my wife ever meet that fellow Lyne at your house ? " 
 
 he asked abruptly ; and the Squire reddened. In the presence 
 
 ' of his Rector he was rather ashamed of his friendship for the 
 
 rationalist, and was glad to say that Mrs. Presyllett had never 
 
 met him at the Hall. 
 
 "They knew each other before your wife became Mrs. 
 Presyllett," he said, anxious to free himself from the charge 
 of having introduced them, now that the fact of their acquaint- 
 ance seemed from the Canon's manner to be exasperating him. 
 " Why, I remember Lyne saying, when your engagement to 
 Miss Gaydon was first mentioned between us, that she had 
 just announced it to him. It was on the Barnwood Road, 
 on the day of Barnwood Cattle Fair." 
 
A CELIBATE'S WIFE 211 
 
 The Squire flushed again as he remembered the suggestion 
 which he had made to his friend on that occasion, and a 
 horrible doubt entered his head that Gabriel might have taken 
 the suggestion to heart after the marriage. 
 
 " Do you think that they are too much together ? " he 
 asked in his straightforward way; and the clergyman, in 
 his dread of a public scandal, forced himself to speak more 
 calmly. 
 
 " I do not approve of my wife, or indeed of any friend of 
 mine, knowing a man of that stamp at all. Mrs. Presyllett 
 thinks she may be able to alter his views, but I am of opinion 
 that it is best to leave such men alone. I find that he has 
 been persuading my wife to read his profane books, and am 
 on my way to remonstrate with him." 
 
 " Oh ! I am surprised to hear it of Lyne," said the Squire. 
 " He seemed to me quite anxious not to disturb your wife's 
 faith, when he has spoken about her, I mean. I have never 
 seen them together." 
 
 ** And so your friend the Atheist takes an interest in my 
 wife's faith, and discusses her with you, does he ? " said the 
 Canon ; and his keen glance made the Squire feel uncomfort- 
 able. He was glad to stumble through an explanation and 
 get away. 
 
 The Canon went on his way, with all his doubts intensified, 
 and apparently confirmed. His wife had spoken on the 
 previous day of her visit to Lyne as if he were a complete 
 stranger, and, weeks before she was married even, she had 
 known the man well enough to tell him of her proposed 
 marriage. The day of Barnwood Cattle Fair ! It came back 
 to him in a flash that it was the very day on which his wife had 
 shown the first sign of hesitation with regard to their proposed 
 partnership, the day on which she had upbraided him for his 
 ownership of the rookery at Barnwood. Had the man been 
 in her complete confidence even then ; and if so, why had she 
 agreed to the partnership ? Was it a deeply laid plot to make 
 him look ridiculous ? Was her complete absence of passion 
 explained by the fact that she had a passion for Lyne ? He 
 was, indeed, ready to believe anything. 
 
 His doubts only increased his passion for her. While he 
 
212 A CELIBATE'S WIFE 
 
 had felt sure of her residence under his roof, he could control 
 himself; but with the fear of losing her altogether, he could no 
 longer disguise from himself the intensity of his lust. He did 
 not try to disguise it. Any lapse from purity was excusable, 
 he told himself when he could give it thought, in order to 
 prevent the terrible sin of a woman leaving her husband. The 
 Angel and the Beast joined forces against an outside foe. 
 
 This was the mood in which he reached the author's cottage, 
 and finding the front door wide open, he strode inside at 
 once, and after glancing into the empty study, pursued his 
 way to the French windows of the drawing-room, there to 
 catch sight of his wife in the Infidel's arms. 
 
 Against Lyne he felt little real anger. He could not 
 understand a man undeterred by thoughts of supernatural 
 punishment curbing his passion in any way, and if the un- 
 believer had deliberately made love to his wife, it was only 
 what he had expected of him. But his wife! She had 
 deceived him utterly. She was not the saint that he had 
 married, and who had presumed to consider herself holier 
 than her lord and master. She was frail and human. 
 
 Even in his indignation, there was a certain amount of 
 satisfaction for him in the revelation. If he had loved her 
 as worldly men love their wives, he would have been heart- 
 broken by the downfall of her character; but her character 
 he had never loved or appreciated. He had married her 
 as a chattel, and he was possessed at once by a dread lest 
 her value should have deteriorated for him from that point 
 of view, and a fierce anger with her for causing his dread. 
 
 Had matters gone so far, he asked himself, that his con- 
 tinued possession of his chattel had become impossible ? If 
 he had stood alone, he could have forgiven her any offence 
 rather than lose her ; and his very want of real love for the 
 woman, the sheer brutality of his passion, would have enabled 
 him to pose as the divinely forgiving husband ; but the divinely 
 forgiving husband can never escape looking rather ridiculous 
 and pitiable in the eyes of society, and the Canon's pride 
 prevented him thinking for a moment of occupying the posi- 
 tion. His dread was chiefly due to the fear lest society should 
 demand his surrender of a possession he valued — a possession 
 
A CELIBATE'S WIFE 213 
 
 which he had only gained through much mental argument 
 both with his soul and with Angela, and which it would be 
 difficult for him to replace. What other beautiful woman 
 could he induce to marry him, on the only terms which made 
 marriage permissible to him ; and how could he be sure that 
 his conscience would permit him to repeat his experiment 
 if Angela were lost to him ? Only by an unusual combina- 
 tion of coincidences had he been able to wrest from Deity 
 a supposed sanction for his act, and the coincidences would 
 not be repeated. It was very hard on him when the mar- 
 riage had just been opening out to him a vista of justifiable 
 gratification, and he was anxious to find that his wife had 
 not passed beyond the line of forgiveness, had not made it 
 impossible for him to forgive her, that is, with the approval 
 of society. 
 
 When Gabriel Lyne had passed him to fetch water from 
 the house, he did not think of obeying his command. He 
 did not believe that his wife had fainted. The Infidel's state- 
 ment was for him simply a clever impromptu to explain the 
 position in which he had found them, and as soon as Lyne 
 was gone, he strode across the level lawn with the sun in his 
 eyes, preparing a stern denunciation of the woman who had 
 deceived him. 
 
 But when he reached the rustic seat where she was reclining, 
 he was relieved to find that the statement was true. There 
 was no disbelieving the perfect pallor of the girl's face, or the 
 deep rims under her closed eyes. She had not opened them 
 since Gabriel had left her, and was perfectly unconscious of 
 her husband's presence. 
 
 When she caught the sound of his steps on the grass, she 
 thou'2[ht that it was the unbeliever returning, and opened her 
 eyes slowly, half afraid of letting Her own meet his; and a 
 look of relief came into her face when she caught sight of 
 her husljand in his place. Her lips had been moving in 
 silent prayer, and it seemed to her as if her prayer had been 
 answered. 
 
 At the sight of her evident illness the Canon's stern ex- 
 pression had melted into an expression of relief like hers, and, 
 in his dread of losing her, a new resolve came to him suddenly 
 
214 A CELIBATE'S WIFE 
 
 with the discovery that the supposed embrace at least was 
 satisfactorily accounted for. 
 
 His manner became full of the practised gentleness which 
 he showed with the sick in the parish when he was obliged 
 to visit them, and he smiled when his eyes met his wife's. 
 Her beauty made his dread of losing her conquer even his 
 temper. It conquered his curiosity too. Better know nothing, 
 he said to himself, than learn that which would compel him 
 to relinquish his wife. He would safeguard himself with 
 ignorance. 
 
 Gabriel had been alarmed, for his beautiful Nun's sake, by 
 the Canon's unmistakable anger as he passed him ; and when 
 he returned with water and smelling-salts, to find that the 
 clergyman had joined his wife on the lawn, his heart sank. 
 
 He was relieved to find them talking amicably together, 
 the Canon full of condolences, uttered in a tone that was 
 quite amiable, if rather studied and artificial. Even to Gabriel 
 himself the Canon showed a cold politeness, which surprised 
 him after the short scene at the French windows. He tried 
 to see the wife's face, to tell from it whether this apparent 
 peace was a true one ; but Angela's eyes avoided him, and she 
 looked at her husband only. It was the Canon who took the 
 glass of water from Gabriel's hand and held it to her lips. 
 
 He apologised to the Infidel for the trouble which they were 
 giving him. 
 
 " I am afraid that my wife is too zealous for her strength," 
 he said ; " this evangelical work of hers is too tiring for her." 
 
 Gabriel replied in the same tone, and smiled a little to think 
 of the hostile passage which had just taken place between 
 them. 
 
 " I was just persuading her that her zeal is thrown away 
 upon me," he said, " that the differences between your view and 
 mine are too fundamental for a cursory exchange of opinions. 
 Would you like me to walk over to the Rectory and bring 
 back a conveyance for Mrs. Presyllett ? The drawback of this 
 place is that I have no stable." 
 
 It was Angela who answered, but she addressed her words 
 to the Rector. 
 
 " There is not the least need for Mr. Lyne to give himself 
 
A CELIBATE'S WIFE 3x5 
 
 further trouble," she said quickly. " I feel quite better, and 
 can walk easily with the help of your arm. Mr. Lyne is very 
 kind, but there is really no need for the carriage." 
 
 She rose as she spoke and took her husband's arm. She 
 seemed to Gabriel very anxious to get away from him, and he 
 struggled, poor fellow, to find satisfaction in the fact that she 
 had no further need or wish for his help. The agreement 
 between husband and wife surprised him. He had been 
 telling himself, especially when the excited Canon appeared, 
 that his beautiful Nun had paid her visit without her hus- 
 band's knowledge, and that he would view her act with sus- 
 picion and anger. Gabriel had been steeling himself to 
 witness an angry scene, in which the girl would appeal to him 
 for vindication of her motives, in which it might be necessary 
 for him to remind her of the allegiance she owed her husband, 
 an allegiance which she seemed always anxious to disclaim. 
 
 The scene would have been painful to him, and have neces- 
 sitated a great deal of self-control on his part ; but it would not 
 have chilled him as this perfect agreement did, which left him 
 absolutely unnecessary to her. He struggled in vain to feel 
 glad that the meeting between husband and wife had turned 
 out so differently from what the Canon's manner and his 
 knowledge of his character had led him to expect. It was 
 much better that she should find such satisfaction in her 
 husband's society, but his heart rebelled in spite of himself 
 against her sudden coldness. 
 
 She appeared suddenly to share the Canon's personal dis- 
 like to him, and her eagerness to leave the place was very 
 apparent. All the friendliness and candour which had marked 
 their previous talks had disappeared instantly, and she seemed 
 unwilling to address him or to let her eyes meet his. 
 
 Even when he had followed them across the lawn and 
 through the house to the door, and Angela, leaning on her 
 husband's arm, held out her hand to him, her manner was 
 very formal. 
 
 '• I am sorry that I have taken up so much of your time, 
 Mr. Lyne," she said, with eyes still averted. " I think that 
 you are right in saying that argument between us is inadvis- 
 able, but I shall always pray that you may see the truth." 
 
2i6 A CELIBATE'S WIFE 
 
 The Canon bowed stiffly, and Gabriel turned back to the 
 lonely house with a sigh. 
 
 " So that is the end of it," he said aloud. " Well ! I ought 
 to be quite satisfied. It is what I have been trying for. She 
 will never see me again." 
 
 Then he rolled himself a cigarette, and walked up and down 
 the low-ceilinged study, reasoning with himself. 
 
 "You are a poor fool," he said, apostrophising himself. "You 
 have decided that she must keep to her husband, and are 
 sorry that she is quite willing. You want her to be happy, and 
 are sorry that they seem better friends than you imagined." 
 
 He puffed away at his cigarette, wondering what had given 
 him the idea that the Canon and his wife were so completely 
 at variance with one another, and struggling to reconcile himself 
 to the apparent fact that they were not. 
 
 " What a bigoted fool I am getting," he said aloud again, 
 " to think that a fellow cannot make a good husband unless 
 he holds opinions like mine. Mrs. Gateacre knows more 
 than I do." 
 
 Meanwhile the amiable couple walked along the deserted 
 lane in almost complete silence. After thanking the Canon for 
 coming so opportunely to escort her home, Angela volunteered 
 no remark; and the Canon, although he had much to say, had 
 decided to keep it until they reached the house. It was always 
 easier for him to maintain a lofty mental attitude in his study, 
 with the assistance of his stained-glass window and incense, 
 and the clergyman was feeling strong in the knowledge that he 
 could assume his lofty pedestal once more. The strength of 
 which his wife had robbed him by her constant appeals to a 
 creed purer than his own, had come back now with the know- 
 ledge that, judged by any ideal of conduct at all, he could 
 indict his wife's actions. If she had done nothing worse — and 
 he was beginning to think that he had interfered in time — she 
 had concealed from him her acquaintance with Lyne previous 
 to their marriage, and must shrink abashed before him when 
 he confronted her with the fact. 
 
 The knowledge gave him a sense of spiritual superiority and 
 command over her which he had not felt since their marriage, 
 and he thanked God, who in His marvellous wisdom had 
 
A CELIBATE'S WIFE 217 
 
 allowed his wife to commit a fault in order to make her amen- 
 able to her husband's proper control 
 
 As they crossed the wooden bridge over the river, Angela 
 drew her arm from his, saying that the air had taken away all 
 her weakness ; but the Canon insisted on her replacing it, and 
 his wife obeyed quite meekly. 
 
 The Canon smiled complacently at the thought that already 
 her guilty conscience was making her amenable to his wishes. 
 
 " When you have taken your things off, I should like to 
 speak to you in the study, dear," he said when they entered 
 the house together ; and Angela nodded. 
 
 Canon Presyllett thought that he saw timidity in her glance 
 as she did so, and the fact encouraged him. 
 
 When, five minutes later, Angela, looking very pale and tired 
 still, entered the room, the incense was burning, and the clergy- 
 man wore his most spiritual air. 
 
 The place had never quite lost its effect upon her, and once 
 more she felt a sense of awe in his presence, akin to the feeling 
 which she had felt when first she entered the room. Her 
 bearing had lost the bold fearlessness which had distinguished 
 it more and more of late as she lost faith in the Rector's 
 perfect devotion to his proclaimed creed, and she seated her- 
 self at once in the chair he handed her. 
 
 The Rector remained standing under the window. 
 
 " I waited till we were home," he said in his pulpit voice, 
 which once more impressed her as it had done in the days 
 before she had learnt to associate it with selfish casuistry, " be- 
 fore asking you a few questions with regard to your relationship 
 with Lyne." 
 
 The pale face flushed a little, and, encouraged by its expres- 
 sion, the Canon proceeded with more calmness and sweetness 
 of manner than he had shown her since her first sign of 
 opposition to his authority. 
 
 *' Do not think that I claim any right as your husband to 
 demand your confidence, although I might surely expect perfect 
 openness from one who has promised to be my wife in the 
 eyes of the world. I speak rather as your spiritual pastor, one 
 who would guard you from any danger into which your youth, 
 and perhaps your over-confidence, may have delivered you. 
 
2i8 A CELIBATE'S WIFE 
 
 I speak as a minister of God, who would guide you as one of 
 my Master's lambs into the path of safety, so that at the last 
 you may be gathered into the fold with those who have con- 
 quered all the sinful leadings of the flesh, and triumphed in 
 the strength which the Master alone can give. Believe me, 
 dear, I have no desire to blame you, no desire to remind you 
 of the unhappiness which any fault of yours must cause to 
 myself. I only want to help you in any temptation which may 
 have beset you, and give you what help is in my power. As 
 your pastor, I urge you to put aside all deception and tell me 
 everything." 
 
 " I have not deceived you. I have nothing to tell," she 
 said; but her words did not ring true, as they usually did. 
 Her hands clasped and unclasped nervously, as they always 
 did when she was ill at ease. 
 
 " Of course I cannot compel you to make me your confi- 
 dant," he went on, content to waive the question of his 
 authority for the sake of effect, when he had the proofs of her 
 deception to confront her with. " But I assure you that your 
 duty to our Master demands that you should accept the help 
 He offers you through me." 
 
 "But I have nothing to tell," said Angela again, still 
 moving her hands monotonously; and the Canon produced 
 his first piece of evidence. 
 
 " Is it not true, then, that you have allowed that enemy of 
 your Master, that proclaimed unbeliever, to persuade you to 
 read his pernicious attacks on our holy religion ? " 
 
 The effect surprised him. A look of relief passed over the 
 girl's subdued face, and she answered with something of her 
 old animation and courage. 
 
 " Oh ! Mr. Lyne did not urge me to read his books. He 
 absolutely refused to lend them to me without your express 
 sanction. He looks upon us, of course, as really man and 
 wife. He has done all he could to dissuade me from reading 
 his works, and I was obliged to order them for myself from 
 Crawford." 
 
 " Why did you keep it a secret from me ? " 
 
 " I had no intention of doing so. This morning was our 
 first meeting since I ordered or intended to order them." 
 
A CELIBATE'S WIFE 219 
 
 " And you expected to learn truth from them ? " 
 
 "Some truth, doubtless. I do not think that they will 
 change my faith, if that is what you fear." 
 
 " I fear that you are indulging an unwise curiosity, and 
 that it would most probably have harmful effects," he said, 
 maintaining his calm pastoral dignity with more difficulty as 
 her manner became more assertive. " When do you expect 
 the books ? " 
 
 « To-morrow." 
 
 "I must advise you most earnestly to countermand your 
 order." 
 
 "I am afraid that it is too late," she said weakly, her 
 unusual suggestion of a mere material difficulty showing that 
 her own judgment had ceased to be an infallible guide to her. 
 " The books are paid for, and were specially ordered for me." 
 
 "Then you must please let me take possession of them 
 when they arrive." 
 
 She hesitated a moment, the play of her delicate fingers 
 becoming more marked than before. 
 
 " Thank you," she said meekly ; " I should like you to keep 
 them until — until God has shown me whether I ought to 
 read them." 
 
 "That is right, dear," he said, encouraged by her ready 
 submission. " I doubt not what the decision of our Master 
 will be, if you really seek His will in the matter, not indulging 
 your own wish, or listening to those arguments of the heart 
 which so easily deceive us into thinking them Divine utter- 
 ances, but seeking it humbly in His word, and listening to 
 the advice of His ministers. If you ask my opinion " 
 
 "But you do not know what the books are, because you 
 do not know what Mr. Lyne is. Your idea of him as a bad 
 man is altogether unjust." 
 
 The Canon smiled sublimely. 
 
 " My dear child, you must remember that you are very young 
 to form an estimate of any man. No doubt Mr. Lyne is a 
 very handsome man, and has mental ability of a high order. 
 How persuasive he can make himself, I know from sad expe- 
 rience. He is quite undermining my influence with Gateacre. 
 The Evil One chooses his servants as well as our Master, and 
 
220 A CELIBATE'S WIFE 
 
 gives them gifts to enable them to entangle men's souls with 
 their sophistries. No doubt those gifts appeal very strongly 
 to a girl like yourself. His flattering tongue, his pleasing 
 attentions are very dangerous." 
 
 Angela's face flushed, and she half rose from her chair. 
 
 " You misjudge Mr. Lyne altogether," she said hotly. " He 
 has never made the slightest attempt to influence me j he has 
 made every effort to prevent me talking to him, for fear that 
 he should weaken my faith; he has never flattered me, he 
 has never paid me attentions. I think that he hates and 
 despises me." 
 
 The uncontrollable excitement of her defence, which could 
 not but convince him of the Infidel's innocence, made the 
 Canon decide on a bold question. 
 
 His inspired eyes met hers calmly and searchingly. 
 
 " And still you have given him your love, Angela ? " 
 
 She recoiled as if he had struck her, and drew herself to 
 her full height, confronting him. The flush had died from 
 her cheeks, leaving them deathly pale. Her eyes were full of 
 startled consternation. 
 
 She stood as if transfixed for a moment, her pale lips 
 moving, but making no sound. 
 
 He saw that she was struggling to deny the accusation, and 
 spoke still in his calm gentle voice. 
 
 " Remember that whatever you say to me, dear, God knows 
 the truth. He reads the secrets of all hearts." 
 
 Her eyes dropped under his gaze. The pallor of her cheek 
 turned suddenly to flame, and sinking back in her chair, she 
 buried her burning face in her hands, and burst into tears. 
 
CHAPTER XXIV 
 
 Poor Angela ! It seemed hard that she should have been made 
 so honest. Other women, if men may believe their sweethearts, 
 can give their whole heart to a man, and remain quite uncon- 
 scious of the fact until the man has justified their confession 
 by demanding it. Perhaps Angela owed her singularity to her 
 constant habit of self-analysis. Her finger was for ever on her 
 moral pulse, waiting for the evidence of sin. And she had 
 always accepted the fact that love between man and woman 
 was sin. The mother who had been her ideal in youth had 
 loved, of course, but her passion had been etherealised to her 
 daughter by the fact that, before Angela herself was old enough 
 to think, it had become love for an angel. Mrs. Gaydon would 
 confess that God had taken her husband to save her from the 
 sin of loving a creature better than the Creator, and had thus 
 instilled into her daughter's mind the fact, which she saw 
 exemplified everywhere afterwards, that human love interferes 
 with that self-centredness which she unavoidably associated 
 with holiness. Then, like the Canon, she identified purity with 
 her natural distaste for physical contact with mankind. She 
 did not understand how physical contact is purified and made 
 holy when it is the sincere expression of a pure and holy 
 emotion. Cecile had cultivated in her the morbid sensitive- 
 ness which she had herself in this respect. In spite of their 
 affection the two girls rarely kissed, and never embraced. 
 The kiss which the Canon had given her in the vestry, after 
 the empty wedding, had made her feel physically sick, and 
 the same sensation seized her now whenever he touched even 
 her hand. This distaste for physical contact was purity in 
 her eyes, and suddenly she found herself finding pleasure in 
 it. Gabriel Lyne had taken her in his arms, and instead 
 
222 A CELIBATE'S WIFE 
 
 of instinctively shrinking from him, she had felt a thrill of 
 pleasure, a sense of strength and protection, which gave her 
 a new momentary content. She had enjoyed it for a moment, 
 only to be overcome with horror of herself in the next, when 
 she realised what it meant, when she saw through half-closed 
 eyes his eager sympathetic face bending over her, and thought 
 vaguely — the idea passing from his mind to hers no doubt by 
 a species of unexplored mental telegraphy — that he might kiss 
 her, knowing that if her conscience revolted, her inclination 
 would not. 
 
 Perhaps Gabriel had unconsciously prepared her mind for 
 this realisation by his scruple of propriety. She had been 
 thinking of him as a mind, a soul, in which she was deeply 
 interested, and he had reminded her that he was a man and 
 she a woman, and that her interest in him would be taken by 
 the world to be due to the fact. She had found herself in- 
 voluntarily asking, with a sense of shame, whether it might not 
 be partly true. The conviction that her supposed dream- 
 inspiration had been no inspiration at all, but merely a freak 
 of her imagination, had prepared her for the self-question- 
 ing, as the questioning prepared her for the realisation of her 
 love. 
 
 It was a terrible downfall for her. She had been so jealous 
 of her holiness, her superiority to all the degrading emotions 
 which she saw in others, and now in a flash of enlightenment, 
 at the touch of a man's arm, she found herself convicted in 
 her own eyes of sin — sin against God, against modesty, for her 
 love had been given unsought, and she had not even the 
 excuse of ordinary women who are wooed and won; a sin 
 against society, for in the eyes of society she was the wife of 
 another man. 
 
 The last consideration did not appeal to her. She barely 
 considered it, for the verdict of society she had always despised, 
 and her marriage was only a form. But the offence against 
 conscience and pride filled her with an overwhelming sense of 
 degradation. 
 
 She was too honest to deceive herself. She could see quite 
 plainly that she had loved Gabriel from the moment of their 
 meeting in the fever-stricken house at Barnwood. Her com- 
 
A CELIBATE'S WIFE 223 
 
 plete dependence upon his judgment, her faith in all his 
 decisions, and her assurance of his goodness, which was strong 
 enough to resist the shock of her after- discovery when she 
 found him the Infidel of Windlehurst, explained themselves. 
 It was absurd to think that the few words he had spoken, the 
 slight evidence she had of his philanthropy, could have inspired 
 her faith. It was that his face, his voice, his whole bearing 
 had appealed directly to her heart. Her trust was founded 
 not on reason at all, but on sheer emotion j and that emotion, 
 she saw clearly, was what people called " love." What else 
 could be the inexplicable emotion which at moments filled her 
 with a sense of delicious happiness, until the considerations of 
 conscience and pride made her mentally writhe under the con- 
 viction that she was sinning against God and her womanhood 
 in not only loving, but giving her love unsought? It was 
 an emotion which triumphed over all her most cherished con- 
 victions. She could no longer admit that her opinions were 
 of necessity right and infallible, if by so doing she made the 
 Infidel inferior to herself; she must worship his character 
 although, by all the canons of her creed, his every thought 
 was unholy and wrong. She believed in him more than she 
 believed in herself, in his goodness more than in her own. 
 
 Love was indeed very different from what she had always 
 imagined it — so different indeed, that she would not have 
 recognised it had it not been for that horrible degrading 
 inclination for his caresses, that horrifying sense of pleasure 
 and content which swept over her when she found herself, 
 after her momentary unconsciousness, in his arms. 
 
 Even while conscience and pride cried out to her that her 
 content was degrading, she could not feel that it was so, as 
 she had felt degraded by the Canon's kiss. 
 
 If her pride, and the natural maidenly shame she felt at 
 giving her love unsought, had not bulwarked her old ideas of 
 the sinfulness of love, if the artificial conscience created in her 
 by her training in an ascetic creed had stood alone to with- 
 stand this new enlightenment of what love really meant, love 
 might have triumphed over her teaching, and rather than 
 degrade the emotion which she could not feel to be impure, 
 she might have lost faith in her teaching; but with maidenly 
 
224 A CELIBATE'S WIFE 
 
 shame on its side, the creed conquered, and she covered 
 herself with degradation. 
 
 She lost faith in every impulse which had made her so 
 eager for the Infidel's conversion, and in the supposed en- 
 couragement of her God she saw now only the machinations 
 of the Evil One. Her dream, as practical results had clearly 
 shown, owed nothing to inspiration ; and she told herself that 
 only the personal magnetism of the unbeliever himself had 
 drawn her to his cottage, after he had shown her clearly at 
 the first interview that her arguments could not influence him. 
 She had been stubborn and self-confident. The Canon had 
 been right, when she thought him so very wrong, in warning 
 her against her enterprise. 
 
 As her supreme trust in her own judgment departed, her 
 faith revived in the professional exponent of her creed, the 
 creed against which she had sinned. How did she know that 
 the Canon was ever wrong in his enunciations of duty ? She 
 had never thought him more wrong than when he opposed her 
 visit to the Windlehurst Infidel, and the result had more than 
 justified his opposition. How could she be sure even that 
 he was wrong when he gave the death-blow to her faith in 
 his judgments by selling the rookery at Barnwood instead of 
 building a model dwelling in its place ? The result had been 
 to leave him undisturbed in his spiritual work, while the 
 model dwelling was to be built after all, as the mere out- 
 come of a commercial enterprise, by one more fitted for the 
 undertaking. 
 
 The realisation of new facts in life was hurrying Angela 
 rapidly along the path of spiritual progress, which all earnest 
 and thoughtful seekers after holiness must travel. 
 
 They realise first that an action is not necessarily right or 
 wrong because they think it right or wrong; that their judg- 
 ment is simply the result of their training. In England they 
 fall back upon what is supposed to be the supreme source of 
 their teacher's inspiration, the Bible, and instead of accepting 
 the tortured reading which has come to them through others, 
 take its inspiration direct for themselves. 
 
 The second step is when they realise that their own honest 
 reading of the infallible code is not necessarily infallible. They 
 
A CELIBATE'S WIFE 225 
 
 are faced by the fact that texts, like statistics, can prove any- 
 thing; and they see all around them men forming judgments 
 entirely opposed to their own, and still justifying them by 
 the same code. A thousand sects claim authority for their 
 tenets direct from the Bible, and find in it authority for 
 denouncing each other. Given that the Bible is infalHble, 
 its infallibility becomes useless for want of an infalUble mind 
 to read it. 
 
 Here is the parting of the ways which comes in the path 
 of the earnest Christian, and it sends one half seeking for 
 an infallible leader to read the infallible creed, and the other 
 half trudging along like Gabriel Lyne without infallibility 
 at all. 
 
 With an equal desire for belief in what is true, one man 
 subordinates his judgment to that of another man or group of 
 men as human as himself; his final goal, if his honesty and 
 logic hold out, is the Church of Rome : another realises that 
 absolute truth is not to be found, and contents himself with 
 following always what appears to his own intellect the truest 
 thing. He may still admit the Bible as an infallible guide, 
 although he admits fallibility in his reading of it — an admission 
 which luckily prevents him damning everybody who does not 
 hold exactly the same view as himself; or he may conclude, 
 with Gabriel Lyne again, that an infallible book without an 
 infallible mind to read it is an absurdity, inconsistent with 
 any known creation of the one Creator's, and traceable back to 
 man's lust for that absolute truth which he desires chiefly in 
 order to know absolutely that he is better than his neighbours. 
 Even at this point a man is not necessarily a non-Christian. 
 The final consideration which had made Gabriel Lyne label 
 himself an Infidel was the conviction that the prejudice in 
 favour of the name " Christian " is simply a remnant of that 
 lust for infallibility which the Creator has not chosen to grant, 
 and which on that very account became to him an irreligious 
 and harmful thing to be lusted after. 
 
 Angela, of course, was still searching for absolute right and 
 wrong. The idea of contenting herself with comparative truth,' 
 as we do in art, science, and every department of the Creator's 
 work except morals, had never occurred to her, and would hav^' 
 
 p 
 
226 A CELIBATE'S WIFE 
 
 shocked her if it had. She had reached the point when her 
 own reading of the infalUble code ceased to be necessarily right, 
 when all the faith, prayer, and Divine help which she could 
 get could not prevent her mistaking the path of duty ; and she 
 fell back on the authority nearest to her hand, of her Church, 
 and of its minister, the Canon. 
 
 For the first time since the disappointing honeymoon, she 
 was glad that she had entered into her spiritual partnership 
 with him. She had more or less consciously done so, it will 
 be remembered, as a refuge from her own heart — from those 
 vague dreams of romance which instinctively tinge the thoughts 
 of every pure woman, whether they are welcomed or repressed ; 
 and now she found the refuge very necessary. Once more 
 a doubtful enunciation of the Canon's was justified by the 
 results. 
 
 Gabriel Lyne had said more than once that it was only the 
 fact of her marriage which made him unwilHng to influence 
 her views. If she had not been married, he might have made 
 her beheve very much like himself. His views were wrong, of 
 course. She tried to persuade herself that it was her love 
 which had blinded her to their falseness, but she had no faith 
 in her strength to resist his arguments. She felt that he could 
 mould her like clay, that she trusted his wisdom more than 
 her own, and worshipped the goodness in him that owned to 
 no incentive in the love of her Christ. If she had not been 
 married he might have converted her from her faith, and then 
 when her views were like his, he might despise her less, and 
 begin to care for her perhaps. Angela flushed at the thought, 
 and tried to thank Heaven for the protection which her 
 marriage had given her. Her doubts about it became to her 
 only the outcome of a sinful independence, the independence 
 which had led to her love ; and she was prepared, in her com- 
 plete loss of trust in herself, to deliver herself up in future 
 blindfold to the authority of her husband, and take his enuncia- 
 tions as the real voice of God. Of course a text occurred to 
 her to justify her. It was one of which the Canon himself 
 was very fond. 
 
 Nothing could be more complete than her subjection as 
 she sat in the cathedral-toned study, with its tinge of incense, 
 
A CELIBATE'S WIFE 227 
 
 hiding her face for shame before the question her husband 
 had asked and which she dared not answer. 
 
 He was very sweet and gentle with her. It came easily to him 
 when he found her no longer self-assertive. Even the jealousy 
 with which her tacit confession inspired him was overbalanced 
 by his relief at finding that Lyne did not share her passion. 
 His wife's ascetic dress and devoutness made it easy for him 
 to believe that the man had only been repelled by her efforts 
 to convert him, while Angela's affections had been seduced by 
 his good looks and splendid figure. 
 
 With no opposition from the Unbeliever, it would be easy 
 enough to prevent any further meetings between them, and to 
 transfer her hopeless passion to himself. He was still trying 
 to understand the passion which a woman feels for one man 
 because she loves him, by identifying it with the unholy passion 
 he had himself for all women, because they were women ; and he 
 actually promised good to himself from the fact that her love 
 had been awakened, even though it was for another man. He 
 looked upon it as an intervention of Deity on his behalf, to 
 make his marriage what he had intended it to be. 
 
 He waited patiently for the first violence of her sobs to ex- 
 haust itself, and then came nearer to place his gaunt hand on 
 her shoulder, with a pleasant sense of possession which he had 
 not felt since the honeymoon. 
 
 " My poor child," he said in a low voice, the voice he always 
 used to penitents, " I am so glad that I know, so that I can 
 help you. You must tell me all about it, and let us see what 
 practical means we can take to assist you, with God's help, to 
 conquer your fault." 
 
 Poor Angela, still hiding her face, gave a short account of 
 her meetings with the Infidel, beginning with the affair at 
 Barnwood ; and she listened quite submissively when he told 
 her that God was showing her how she had adopted the wrong 
 sort of service for Him ; that she was taking to herself, in her 
 pride, too many of the duties which He has allotted to men, 
 and neglecting those which He has specially set apart for women. 
 Her nursing of the sick and her charitable visits to the poor 
 might continue, but her spiritual efforts to reclaim the rich by 
 argument and denunciation must be suspended, and in their 
 
228 A CELIBATE'S WIFE 
 
 place it would be well for her to devote her time more to those 
 domestic duties which, however much her pride might revolt 
 against them, have been specially chosen by Deity as means by 
 which women may show their love of Him in patience and sub- 
 jection. In his well-modulated pulpit voice, he told her a pretty 
 little legend about a woman who was always praying for some 
 great work to do for her Master, to whom one evening appeared 
 an angel of light, who, after listening to the reiteration of her 
 request, drew his finger across the dusty window-sill, and hold- 
 ing it up, soiled, to her wondering eyes, disappeared. And he 
 wound up by saying that he had decided to send Mrs. Graeme 
 away, and expected his wife to undertake the management of 
 the house and darn his socks. 
 
 Angela listened to him as to the authority of the Church, 
 and agreed submissively. She hated domestic duties, and her 
 dislike made her ready to accept them as a religious duty. 
 
 She had lost faith in the leading of her conscience, and de- 
 livered herself over blindfold to the direction of the minister 
 of God. 
 
CHAPTER XXV 
 
 Although more than a couple of hours had passed since his 
 beautiful Nun had left the cottage with her husband, Gabriel 
 had not succeeded in resuming the thread of his argument 
 when another knock at the door sent him once more to open 
 it. He was glad to see that his visitor was the Squire, who 
 was putting a chain on the wheel of his dogcart, standing 
 in the road. 
 
 The poor Squire had been thinking of what Canon Presyllett 
 had told him all the way to Barnwood, and the more he 
 thought about it the more uncomfortable it made him feel. 
 He was telling himself that every effort he honestly made for 
 the good of others had turned out disastrously. For the good 
 of the parish he had advised the Rector to marry, and the 
 consequence had been that he immediately took to wife a 
 young girl to whom the marriage seemed unfair. To save her 
 from the probable unhappiness his own action threatened to 
 bring upon her, he had suggested to Lyne that he should make 
 love to her, and thus prevent her sacrificing herself to a loveless 
 union. And now it seemed from the Canon's words as if his 
 advice, instead of preventing the marriage he deplored, had 
 directed the Infidel's thoughts in the direction of the Canon's 
 wife, and made him try and influence her mind, only when it 
 was too late. 
 
 Under the circumstances, the conscience-stricken Squire felt 
 that he could not do less than reason with Lyne upon the 
 course he was taking. 
 
 Lyne looked upon the marriage tie in a less sacred and 
 binding light than he did himself, no doubt. How could he 
 help doing when his religious views were what they were? 
 But Mr. Gateacre felt that he could appeal safely to his 
 
230 A CELIBATE'S WIFE 
 
 sympathies, and touch him by pointing out the unhappiness 
 which must undoubtedly come to the Rector's wife if he per- 
 sisted in making an onslaught on her faith. 
 
 He had not much confidence in the Rector's own power to 
 dissuade him from his purpose of making Mrs. Presyllett read 
 his books. The men would only quarrel, he told himself; he 
 felt bound to take the place of mediator ; and he finished his 
 business in Barnwood as hastily as possible, to drive back 
 direct to " The Barn." 
 
 " Hope you are not busy, Lyne ? " he said, looking up, red 
 and breathless from his work at the wheel. " I thought I'd 
 like a chat with you." 
 
 " Just what I was wanting," said Gabriel. " I have plenty 
 of work to do, but don't feel like doing it. Come in." 
 
 He led the way through the house into the garden, as he 
 had done when Angela came — so long ago it seemed now 
 to him — and when they had seated themselves on the rustic 
 bench he handed the Squire his pouch. 
 
 " Shall I make you a cigarette ; or have you your pipe ? " 
 
 The Squire had his pipe, and filled it slowly, wonder- 
 ing how he should begin. Gabriel seemed to be waiting to 
 know what the special object of his visit was, and did not 
 speak. 
 
 The Squire cleared his throat. 
 
 "You have been seeing more of Mrs. Presyllett lately — 
 more than you had when you were at our house last ? " 
 
 "Yes," said Gabriel, as he took the tobacco and began 
 rolling himself a cigarette. 
 • " And you are becoming interested in her ? " 
 
 " Yes," said Gabriel again, and he struck a match. 
 
 " Well ! I want to give you a word of advice, if you will let 
 me, my boy," said the Squire, plunging into his argument. 
 " I know you won't mind it from me, a man double your age. 
 You see, I feel some responsibility about you. You remember 
 what I said to you on the Barnwood Road, when the Rector 
 was first engaged." 
 
 " You mean that you advised me to make love to another 
 man's fiancee ? " said Gabriel quietly. 
 
 "Yes, and I don't say that it was bad advice at the time; 
 
A CELIBATE'S WIFE 231 
 
 but it is a different matter now that the girl is married, 
 although you mayn't think so. Perhaps you think my respect 
 for the marriage tie is old-fashioned like my Christianity." 
 
 " Oh no ! I am not a revolutionary ; but I don't see what 
 you are aiming at. I have only seen Mrs. Presyllett twice 
 since our last meeting, and all that passed between us was a 
 little hostile argument on the subject of religion." 
 
 " Well ! you must be taking greater interest in her to begin 
 to argue with her," said the Squire, who, having once jumped 
 to an opinion, could not easily relinquish it. " And the more 
 you argue the more interested you will become. You may 
 think that you have not a heart or passion like other men, 
 but you will soon find you have ; and if you will excuse me 
 saying it, my boy, I think that Mrs. Presyllett is too pretty 
 a woman for you to argue with safely. I should not talk like 
 this to you if you were a Christian, and respected any law 
 more than your own reason ; but I know what it is when a 
 man is a law to himself. I've tried it with tobacco. You 
 smoke a little more than is good for you, and are feeUng a 
 bit sick with it, and you remember everything that has been 
 said against tobacco and believe it. You are quite certain 
 that it is fooHsh to smoke, and that you will never smoke 
 again. Then next day the sickness has gone off, and you 
 think it over again. It is not that your will's weak, but that 
 you wonder whether your decision was a good one. Directly 
 you feel hungry for a pipe, you forget what has been said 
 against smoking, and only remember what there is to say for 
 it, and in five minutes you are hard at it again." 
 
 "That is true," said Gabriel with a smile, recalling the 
 experience, " but what the deuce has that to do with me and 
 my arguments with Mrs. Presyllett ? " 
 
 " A good deal, my boy, when you have no law higher than 
 your own opinion. At present you are not in love with 
 another man's wife, so you find it easy to say. Marriage is a 
 very good thing, and we must not interfere with its sacredness, 
 just as you found it easy to talk haughty-tauty about another 
 man's fiancee when you did not happen to care a damn for 
 her. But the very fact that you are interesting yourself 
 sufficiently in Mrs. Presyllett to urge her to read your books. 
 
232 A CELIBATE'S WIFE 
 
 shows that you are thinking more about her than you ought 
 to do. Mind, I don't say that you know it, but you will be 
 waking up some fine day and finding that you want her for 
 yourself, and then it will be all up with your idea that the 
 sacredness of marriage is a very fine thing. You will think 
 of nothing but the arguments against it, as with the tobacco. 
 I know, my boy." 
 
 " But Mrs. Presyllett believes in unbreakable laws," said 
 Gabriel, with an assumed lightness. The conversation, which 
 was so much more pertinent than the Squire imagined, in- 
 terested him more than he cared to show. 
 
 The Squire shrugged his shoulders. 
 
 " She may not if you talk to her much, and — " (the Squire 
 lowered his voice confidentially) — "as Rachel says, — and she 
 has a pretty clear judgment about her own sex, you know, — 
 one cannot trust the best woman in the world when she falls 
 in love. Perhaps you think that a marble piece of piety like 
 the Rector's wife couldn't fall in love, but the holiest woman 
 living is human ; and she is very young." 
 
 " I trust that she fell in love with her husband before she 
 married him," said Gabriel, who had been trying to persuade 
 himself of the fact after the scene in the garden ; and he tried 
 to repress a feeling of pleasure when the Squire answered 
 hotly — 
 
 " I'll wager a thousand pounds she did not. Why, she 
 had not seen him out of the pulpit; and though Presyllett 
 is a good and holy man, still he is not much to look at, and 
 you are." 
 
 « Thanks." 
 
 " Oh ! I don't mean to flatter you," said the Squire. " You 
 know as well as I do that you are pretty well as fine a fellow 
 as they make them. Rachel says she cannot understand any 
 girl seeing you without falling in love with you." 
 
 Gabriel laughed. 
 
 " Mrs. Gateacre will be making you jealous if she does not 
 mind." 
 
 " I might be if she were as young as Mrs. Presyllett, and 
 as little in sympathy with me as she seems to be with her 
 husband, from all accounts. Do you know, he came round to 
 
A CELIBATE'S WIFE 233 
 
 apologise to my wife for her talk about dress, and admitted 
 that she was carrying on this crusade of hers against the 
 well-to-do parishioners without his sanction. That does not 
 look as if they were a very united couple at present." 
 
 " No," said Gabriel thoughtfully ; " but you need not be 
 afraid of my trying to make them less united. You will re- 
 member that I refused to try and win the lady's affection at 
 your instigation, when she was merely engaged to marry Pre- 
 syllett. Is it likely that I should think it less dishonourable 
 to do so when she is married ? An infidel has a conscience, 
 you know. Squire." 
 
 " He may have, when it is not tried. What I am afraid of 
 is that you may become fond of the girl. You have shown 
 plenty of interest in her from the first, and I do not know 
 how it is, but I began to think of you two falling in love 
 directly I met the Tomtits' niece. Although you are different 
 enough in all conscience, still there is something akin between 
 you." 
 
 " Perhaps you think us both fanatics," said Gabriel with 
 a faint smile ; he enjoyed the conversation, although he was 
 not sure that it was prudent to continue it. Perhaps he 
 would not have done so had he not been so sure that all 
 chance of his meeting the Canon's wife was at an end. With 
 the certainty before him of leaving Windlehurst and England 
 in a few days, he could allow himself the melancholy pleasure 
 of hearing his name coupled with that of the woman he loved. 
 
 " I don't know what it is," said the Squire persuasively, 
 " but if I were you, Lyne, I really would leave the girl alone, 
 and not try to influence her." 
 
 " I shan't have the chance," said Gabriel rather shortly and 
 hopelessly, and something in his tone made the elder man look 
 up. With an uncomfortable feeling that he was saying some- 
 thing his friend did not like, he had kept his eyes till now 
 steadfastly fixed on the grass, and the young man's expression 
 came as a revelation to him. It reminded him that Lyne's 
 manner was unusually reticent. 
 
 " Look here, my boy, you are not deceiving me, are you ? " 
 he asked abruptly, his eyes searching Gabriel's face. 
 
 Gabriel flushed a little under his glance. 
 
234 A CELIBATE'S WIFE 
 
 *' Deceiving you ? How ? " 
 
 " You don't mean to say that you are in love with her 
 already ? " 
 
 The colour in the young man's clear skin deepened. 
 
 " I have not said so." 
 
 " But you are, for all that. Well ! I am awfully sorry, my 
 boy." 
 
 He held out his hand and grasped his friend's sympatheti- 
 cally. 
 
 " It is a pity that she has married Presyllett. I'm sorry ; 
 but since she has married him, it cannot be helped, can it ? " 
 
 He asked the question anxiously. 
 
 " No, it cannot be helped." 
 
 " You ought to avoid seeing her." 
 
 " That is what I have tried to do all along. I am starting 
 for the States in a week, when my book is done." 
 
 " That is right. We shall miss you at the Hall, but it is 
 the best thing to do." 
 
 The Squire patted him approvingly on the shoulder, and 
 felt pleasantly as if he were very successfully influencing the 
 young man for good. 
 
 "There is one thing that I do not understand," he said 
 after a pause. " Of course you are anxious to spread your 
 opinions and all that, but do you think that it was quite 
 wise to urge Mrs. Presyllett to read your books? I know 
 that you think they are true, and have an idea that it is 
 best for everybody to know the truth ; but in this case, you 
 must see that it would be awkward. It seems to me that 
 Mrs. Presyllett is just the woman to become fanatical over 
 any idea that appeals to her, and your books are damnably 
 persuasive." 
 
 " Thanks," said Gabriel. " I saw all that, and I have done 
 nothing but persuade the Rector's wife not to read my books. 
 She wanted to master them in order to convert me to Chris- 
 tianity. In spite of my principles I advised her to leave them 
 alone." 
 
 " Oh ! I see," said the Squire j " she has been trying to con- 
 vert you, as I said she would. It is just like her. But it is 
 more dangerous work than she imagines. I am glad you are 
 
A CELIBATE'S WIFE 235 
 
 a good fellow, and that you don't feel so much as other men. 
 Now if I were in your shoes " 
 
 " Perhaps I feel more than you think," said Gabriel, " but 
 I try to keep my feelings in hand. A man is not much of a 
 man if he can't do that." 
 
 The Squire knocked the ashes out of his pipe. 
 
 "Well! I shall have to be going now. Rachel will be 
 wondering why I am late for lunch. We shall see you at the 
 Hall before you go ? " 
 
 " I will call and bid you and Mrs. Gateacre good-bye. I 
 am afraid that is all I shall have time for." 
 
 The Squire went away wagging his head. 
 
 " It is all very well for Lyne to say he feels," he was thinking, 
 " but he is all head. If he were like me, and cared for the girl 
 half as much as I care for Rachel, he would want Christianity 
 to keep him straight. His creed is all very well for a cold- 
 blooded fellow born good like him, but for ordinary mortals 
 you must have something more." 
 
 If he could have glanced into the young man's heart, and 
 seen the struggle by which his conquest had been gained over 
 the love and passion that almost overmastered him ! 
 
 Turning briskly out of the Hartle lane, by the church, the 
 Squire caught sight of Angela's familiar figure a Httle farther 
 along the road. She had been permitted by the Canon to pay 
 the visit which he had been intending to do himself, when the 
 Tomtits' revelation sent him back in hot haste to the Rectory. 
 A dying woman in one of the hovels at the far end of the 
 village wanted the Bible read to her, and the Canon, who 
 wished to compose his neglected sermon, thought that it was 
 work which might be delegated to one of the inferior sex. 
 
 Angela was still feeling weak after the emotion through which 
 she had passed, and as he overtook her the good-natured Squire 
 took pity on her tired air and pale face, and pulled up to offer 
 her a lift. 
 
 She was usually so independent that he felt a little surprised 
 when she accepted it gratefully. Her air was unusually re- 
 pressed, and the fact that she seemed a little more human than 
 usual encouraged the good man to give her some fatherly 
 advice which he had been meditating since his interview with 
 
236 A CELIBATE'S WIFE 
 
 Gabriel. He was glad to find himself feeling less afraid of the 
 young lady than usual, and started almost as soon as she was 
 seated by his side. 
 
 " I hear that you have been trying to influence my young 
 friend Lyne," he said in his bluff way ; and the pale face beside 
 him flushed. 
 
 " Has he been telling you of my visits ? " 
 
 Angela knew that the Infidel disapproved of them, and de- 
 spised her for what she had done, but she was hurt to think 
 that he should have made the fact public. The Squire's answer, 
 while it made her flush more hotly, relieved her mind on 
 the point. 
 
 " Your visits ! My goodness, young lady, you do not mean 
 to say that you went to his house ? " 
 
 He had been thinking that Gabriel had met her in the 
 village, and with his knowledge of the young man's affection 
 for the girl, the news shocked him more than it would other- 
 wise have done, and encouraged him to proceed with his lecture. 
 If he did not speak to her pretty strongly, she might be visiting 
 him again, and for the sake of Lyne's peace of mind as well 
 as of the girl's he must certainly prevent that. 
 
 " I know that you think very little of public opinion, Mrs. 
 Presyllett," he went on, when her silence answered his last 
 question, "but I think you might take a word of advice from 
 a man old enough to be your father. It really is not quite the 
 thing for a young and pretty woman to go visiting everybody 
 like this without an escort. I am sure that the Rector doesn't 
 like it. You may despise my scruples because I can't back 
 them up with a text, but I am quite sure there is a good deal 
 of Christian sense at the back of them. You will excuse me 
 speaking plainly, won't you, my dear ? You are young enough 
 to be my daughter, you know, and I can't help taking a fatherly 
 interest in you. And I really can't help thinking that your 
 visits to Lyne are rather unwise. It may be very well for 
 yourself, but you must look at his side of the question. A 
 man's human, you know, and you are a very pretty woman. 
 I don't say that Lyne would insult you. Some men might do 
 that, but he is a gentleman if he is an infidel." 
 
 Angela nodded, but did not speak. She could not trust her 
 
A CELIBATE'S WIFE 237 
 
 voice even to say that all idea of visiting Lyne was at an end, 
 and that she had recognised its unwisdom. The conversation 
 fascinated while it hurt her, as the good man's well-meant 
 blundering had fascinated Gabriel. 
 
 He took her silence for opposition, and saw in it only an 
 unmoved determination to make fresh efforts for the Infidel's 
 conversion, a scorn of the laws of propriety which opposed 
 her proselytising efforts. 
 
 " But if Lyne is a gentleman," he went on, " that does not 
 prevent his being human, and it would be hard on him if he 
 fell in love with you, wouldn't it ? " 
 
 He glanced round at her sharply as he urged this con- 
 sideration, which must be so new to her. 
 
 " You seem to think it impossible," he went on, as she 
 found herself still unable to speak, " but I could surprise you 
 if I liked. If I told you that my young friend is more than 
 half in love with you, that would make you look at your visits 
 to him in another light, wouldn't it ? " 
 
 She did not answer, but a look of startled incredulity put 
 the Squire on his mettle. 
 
 " You may not believe it, Mrs. Presyllett, but I am sorry 
 to say it is only too true. I have just come from Lyne's, and 
 
 you can take my word for it. Why, he has admitted that 
 
 but it is not necessary that I should make any further use of 
 his confidences. I should not have mentioned the matter at 
 all if you had been like other women, but I can't stand by 
 and see you devoting yourself to that man in your perfect 
 innocence, because you think everybody is as holy and un- 
 impressionable as yourself." 
 
 He was beginning to wonder, as he always wondered after 
 he had done anything, whether he had acted wisely ; but Lyne 
 must be preserved from any further visits at all costs, he told 
 himself. 
 
 " So you will not go to his cottage and argue with him any 
 more, will you, Mrs. Presyllett ? " he wound up in his fatherly 
 way ; and when Angela shook her head, he congratulated him- 
 self on having taken the right step to set everything right. 
 How could he know, poor well-meaning blunderer, what his 
 words meant to her ? 
 
238 A CELIBATE'S WIFE 
 
 He put her down at the hovel, and rode home wondering 
 at her unusual silence and submissiveness. 
 
 " I suppose Rachel is right, and that she is toning down, 
 and will get along with Presyllett as well as most wives do," 
 he said to himself; " but, by Jove, I wish that I'd left the 
 Rector alone, and not made him marry her, instead of Lyne. 
 I don't know how it is, but every time I think of those two, 
 they seem somehow made for one another." 
 
CHAPTER XXVI 
 
 Much to the Canon's surprise, the Abbess did not receive 
 with her usual mechanical submission his announcement that 
 she was to be pensioned and sent away. For the first time 
 in his knowledge of her, she showed quite human emotion, 
 appealing against the decision, and reminding the Rector of 
 his promise that his marriage should make no difference to 
 her position. Finally, when the good man remained hard and 
 obdurate, with his usual impatience of any opposition to his 
 plans which did not come from his conscience, she packed up 
 her boxes in a fit of uncontrollable temper, declaring that she 
 would sacrifice her pension rather than remain a day longer in 
 a house where she had been treated so unjustly. 
 
 Her decision was so little unwelcome to her master, that he 
 forgave her resentment and made no change in the provision 
 he had made for her. 
 
 It gave him a sense of pleasing excitement to feel that a bar 
 was removed to the closer companionship with his wife which 
 he proposed to himself; and when Angela with her new sub- 
 missiveness took up the burden of household management, he 
 began to look upon the housekeeper's unexpected temper as 
 another Divine intervention on his behalf to aid and mark 
 approval of his subjugation of his wife's heart and will. 
 
 Only when that subjugation was complete would his actual 
 celibacy become a real virtue in the eyes of his God, and he 
 prayed devoutly and hopefully for it. 
 
 His attitude towards sin, which made him voluntarily in- 
 crease the strength of its temptation, was diametrically opposed 
 to that of Gabriel Lyne, because the principles which actuated 
 the Infidel were to Canon Presyllett atheistical and irreligious. 
 Gabriel considered no act sinful which was not humanly 
 
 239 
 
240 A CELIBATE'S WIFE 
 
 harmful to himself or others, and as he did not want to harm 
 himself or others, every sin was to be avoided by any means 
 possible, quite apart from any question of the amount of 
 credit he could claim for himself by avoiding it. With the 
 churchman, on the other hand, sin was that which displeased 
 God. To measure it by its probable natural effects in terms 
 of earthly happiness to himself or others, was sheer atheism. 
 It did not occur to him, for instance, that the particular sin 
 he was considering could injure anybody. He had satisfied 
 society by the aid of a marriage ceremony, and fondly imagined 
 that by the same means he had taken away from his wife any 
 real inclination to resent the sin, if he ever committed it. 
 Natural delicacy he had none. His purity was a matter of 
 conscience, an obedience to Divine will, like his abstention 
 from champagne and apricots. He had no more natural re- 
 pulsion against carnality than he had against the wine and the 
 fruit. Nor did he credit his wife with any. It was not likely 
 that he should, when he had not even the remembrance of a 
 pure boyhood to help him in realising her purity. That the 
 commission of the sin against God with which he consciously 
 welcomed a moral struggle could be an outrage on his wife's 
 delicacy too great and too horrible for words, never occurred 
 to him. He saw nothing wrong or harmful in it, except that 
 by committing it he would be displeasing Deity. The act 
 therefore became nothing, the amount of his resistance to 
 it everything, and to the Canon it honestly appeared that 
 there was little to choose between committing the sin and 
 avoiding it only because he was helpless and had no voice in 
 the matter. 
 
 It was the direct outcome of his definition of sin, the only 
 definition which necessitates an infallible code and supernatural 
 rewards and punishments. 
 
 To Angela the housekeeper's summary retirement came as 
 a severe test of her new submission. Perhaps it helped to 
 strengthen the complete change which had taken place in her. 
 For the management of a house was above everything distaste- 
 ful to her, and its distastefulness helped her to believe that 
 it was a duty. Had her service to God in the past been any- 
 thing more than a pleasing of her own tastes, she asked herself. 
 
A CELIBATE'S WIFE 241 
 
 in the complete distrust of herself which had come over her 
 when she realised that she had been unable to distinguish 
 between the dictates of God and the promptings of mere 
 earthly sinful love in her heart. It seemed to her that even 
 this self-questioning was useless, since she could not be sure of 
 the truth of her conscience's answer. Thought itself had be- 
 come useless. How was she to tell which thought came from 
 God and which was the mere delusion of Devil or self? Honesty 
 was nothing, since honesty had led Gabriel Lyne to reject 
 Christ. A certainty of God's leading was nothing, since she 
 had been so sure of it w;hen the Devil led her into the path 
 of temptation under the impression that she was going to 
 save the unbeliever's soul. Gabriel would have told her that 
 she must give up all idea of being absolutely right, and follow 
 honestly the course that seemed rightest, even if it led her into 
 occasional mistakes, recognised and adjusted afterwards ; that 
 the whole of life was an education in finding out what is true 
 and what is right, and that at the end of it the Creator has 
 not thought well to give any man absolute knowledge that he 
 is better than his neighbours ; but, alas ! Gabriel could not 
 offer himself as her guide, and the idea of an absolute right 
 and an absolute truth was too firmly implanted in her mind 
 for her to think, on her own initiative, of abandoning the search 
 and struggle for it. 
 
 Thought seemed to her all the more dangerous because she 
 found her mind constantly dwelling on ideas that the Infidel 
 had suggested ; and she tried desperately to close her mind 
 to thought, and use all its energies in realising the person of 
 her Christ, to keep Him always in her mind, and think only 
 of His smile. 
 
 But her household duties, which puzzled her horribly, al- 
 though they helped to keep her mind from spiritual thoughts, 
 did not aid her in keeping before her the reaUsation of her 
 Divine guide. 
 
 The sublime vision which the faithful have ever conjured 
 up for themselves as guide and hope in a dark world, an 
 incentive to heroic deeds, a consolation in the most terrible 
 hours of grief and sorrow, bears a different face for every 
 believer. The outline may be given by the New Testament 
 
 Q 
 
^4^ A CELIBATE'S WIFE 
 
 record; the details are reflected as on a mirror from the 
 believer's own highest thoughts. 
 
 And in Angela's highest thoughts, Jesus had never smiled 
 on domesticity. It had been easy for her, when entering 
 the fever-stricken house at Barnwood, or even in changing 
 her purpose out of deference to those who might suffer from 
 her act, to gaze up to the sunlit sky, and see there the beatific 
 vision of the God-man smiling His approval of her act. But 
 when she was helping Jane to make the beds, or trying to 
 decide what to order for dinner, her Christ seemed much 
 farther from her, and her effort to picture his Divine approval 
 was very hard. 
 
 She blundered miserably over her duties, and got no help 
 from Jane or the cook, who both resented almost openly 
 the housekeeper's departure. Her sudden departure had left 
 the household disorganised, and the only result of Angela's 
 attempts to assert her authority was that Jane gave notice. 
 
 It was the climax of a scene which Angela had felt to be 
 painfully degrading. To argue with a sinner about his soul, 
 to hold her own with Christian equanimity, and bear his 
 abuse as a sacrifice to her Lord, was an experience which she 
 took as a necessary part of the Christian life ; but when the 
 argument was about an unswept room, the exchange of words 
 with a vulgar and spiteful girl seemed to her to drag her down 
 to the maid's level, and to leave her without spiritual support 
 for the disagreeableness of her position. 
 
 She felt that her martyrdom could not go on any longer, 
 and donned her hat and cloak at once, to summon one of her 
 aunts to take the management of the house. The Canon, who 
 was away preaching, had urged her not to do so until she 
 found the assistance really necessary; and now that it was 
 very necessary indeed, she availed herself greedily of his 
 implied permission. As only two days had elapsed since 
 Mrs. Graeme's departure, he might, if she waited to consult 
 him, consider that she had not given the experiment long 
 enough trial, and Angela knew that she could not make him 
 understand how intolerable the experiment had become to her. 
 Already she was beginning to cling to the letter of the law, 
 in distrust of the law-giver's omniscience. It was her duty 
 
A CELIBATE'S WIFE 243 
 
 to do what the Canon told her, but she did not care to con- 
 sider whether she was obeying his wish or not. Her sub- 
 mission had sown in her the first seed of that deceit which 
 invariably accompanies submission to a human authority, and 
 almost as invariably submission to a supernatural one. It had 
 not accompanied Angela's in the old days. 
 
 She felt a keen sense of relief when she was out of the 
 house, the crisp air of the dark garden and road exhilarating 
 her, and quickening mind and pulse as it had done on that 
 former evening when she had first asked the Canon's advice. 
 She seemed to have lived through a great deal since then, 
 and she began by reviewing the past, and trying to think what 
 had made the great difference in her faith. Then she had 
 been so confident, and now she felt like a waif, tossed about 
 on an ocean of doubt, wondering what was right, and afraid to 
 use her own judgment. 
 
 Her mind was the more active because all day she had 
 either forgotten religious thought in the worries of manage- 
 ment, or struggled against thinking. 
 
 The Canon had advised her, in his kindest and most con- 
 siderate manner, to give all her time just at present to 
 womanly duties, both on account of her physical weakness 
 and as a spiritual help against the self-righteousness which 
 had made her undertake Gabriel Lyne's conversion. It was 
 the first time for two days that she had left the house, and 
 the air intoxicated her. She felt that she had left a horrible 
 prison, and only the reflection that she would soon have to 
 return to it damped her uncontrollable feeling of pleasure in 
 her freedom. Her mind indulged in a hundred queer thoughts. 
 Was it possible that she had become a man's housekeeper ? 
 Perhaps it was true that managing homes was woman's best 
 way of serving God, as the Canon seemed to think. Since 
 Gabriel Lyne had made her see her own egotism and pride, 
 and impressed upon her the fact that other people who acted 
 quite differently from herself might be following just as honestly 
 their idea of what was right, she had been more or less con- 
 sciously weighed down by the thought of her difference from 
 other women. Was it possible that she was right, and every 
 wife and mother and home-loving woman in the world wrong ? 
 
244 A CELIBATE'S WIFE 
 
 If she was to give up all her own ideas and submit to those 
 of the Canon, then she must believe that domesticity was the 
 proper end of women. But if it were, why should she be 
 housekeeper to the Canon ? Why not be like other women 
 altogether, and keep house for a man she loved, a husband for 
 whom the service would be a pleasure ? She could picture so 
 well the sweetness of it now, and she felt no revolt against it. 
 Was her absence of revolt a sin ? No, for her spiritual leader 
 had told her that it was pleasing to God for a woman to busy 
 herself in household matters. 
 
 She clung to the infallibility of the Canon still, not because 
 he appealed to her as infallible. The selfishness and self- 
 pleasing behind his commands still forced itself on her mind, 
 although she struggled to tell herself that her judgment was 
 wrong, that the appearance of fallibility was sent by God to 
 try her. She clung to his infallibility because she had nothing 
 else to cling to. If she abandoned it she was indeed lost, 
 left to the direction of her own feeble judgment, which she 
 had learned to distrust. 
 
 It was her own judgment, her own idea, that domesticity 
 was a hindrance to work for God, which had led her into her 
 marriage with the Canon. If ordinary women were right, 
 and God required her not to spend all her time in spiritual 
 effort, but in mending socks and ordering servants, why had 
 she taken this vow against ordinary marriage? She might 
 just as well be like an ordinary woman throughout, and have 
 children, and train and love them as her dead mother had 
 loved and trained her. 
 
 As she passed through the dark village street, she paused 
 to look in at an uncurtained window of one of the cottages 
 which touched the path without the reserve of a garden front. 
 A cheap lamp had been lighted within, and in its light Angela 
 could see a humble interior, the furnishing poor and simple, 
 but looking very peaceful and cosy in the combined glow of 
 lamp and fire. At the bare but spotless deal table near the 
 lamp, a man in his shirt-sleeves sat reading a big Family 
 Bible aloud to his wife, whose hand lay on the table, clasped 
 in his, while her foot rested on the rocker of a cradle. As 
 Angela stopped to take in the scene, the baby in it must have 
 
A CELIBATE'S WIFE 245 
 
 wakened from its sleep, for the mother rose to take it in her 
 arms, and the man stopped in his reading to kiss mother 
 and child. 
 
 It was a sweet peaceful picture of married happiness, and 
 when Angela walked on unwillingly, in fear lest they should 
 turn and see her peering face through the glass, there were 
 tears in her eyes, she did not know why. 
 
 Was this woman less holy than herself? Did God dis- 
 approve of her love for husband and child ? Had she been 
 right in thinking her own life so far superior to this woman's 
 in the eyes of God ? 
 
 Why were human love and marriage wrong ? 
 
 The question was a startling one, and at the first quick 
 thought Angela heard in it the whisper of the Evil One seek- 
 ing to make her waver in her God-commanded hatred of 
 worldliness. She tried to utter a prayer for safety from 
 temptation, but did she know that it was temptation ? Might 
 it not be the whisper of God telling her that her old ideas 
 were wrong ? Ideas were no longer Divine because she had 
 held them, and her disapproval of human love and marriage 
 had been bound up with her dislike for domestic duties, for 
 her love of her own way, which her spiritual leader was de- 
 nouncing now as girlish pride and arrogance. 
 
 Why was love wrong ? The question fascinated her, 
 although she was only dimly conscious of its importance to 
 her creed, and only realised vaguely that her dependence 
 upon the authority of the Canon was bound up with her 
 answer. Only because she had found in the supposed leading 
 of God the real prompting of the human love, had she lost 
 faith in the guidance of her own conscience and judgment. 
 If human love could be inspired by God, then her passion 
 for the conversion of Gabriel Lyne might be right after all, 
 and her own reading of God's will be better than that of her 
 spiritual leader. 
 
 Of course she did not see her position with this clearness. 
 Thought builds itself like the coral reef unconsciously, and 
 the finished structure is planned by the Creator, never by the 
 thinker. 
 
 Why was love wrong? The Squire's well-meant blunder 
 
246 A CELIBATE'S WIFE 
 
 had taken from her old idea of its sinfulness all the support 
 of her instinct. If Gabriel really loved her — and the thought 
 thrilled her with a sense of delight which conscience could 
 not suppress — then she could feel no shame in having re- 
 sponded to the claim his heart must have made on hers, even 
 if his mouth had been sealed. The delicacy which had made 
 it so easy for her to see sin in caresses, no longer assisted 
 her. Her heart-sympathy with the man made it impossible 
 for instinct to revolt against the thought of his touch. She 
 wondered, as she left the lighted cottage window, whether it 
 was possible that she could ever have seen anything coarse 
 in the kiss which the villager had given to his wife and child. 
 
 It was quite possible. Her delicacy had been morbid, but 
 the facts of life teach us very rapidly as we realise them, and 
 love had taught her that it is only the kiss which is given for 
 the kiss's sake alone that is coarse. She had not been able 
 to imagine any other, but it was easy now, although she had 
 never experienced the kiss of love. 
 
 The axiom of her creed was left without the support of 
 her feeling ; it was left also without the support of her reason, 
 for the pleasant sense of superiority to other women, and the 
 dislike to sordid household duties, which had bulwarked her 
 belief in the past, were recognised now as selfish traits. If a 
 woman must manage a house, then the mere fact of her loving 
 husband and children could not interfere with her service of 
 God. The love of a good man must assist her in recognis- 
 ing and following God's will. Angela could not help feeling 
 that the constant companionship of Gabriel Lyne would help 
 her to do God's service much more thoroughly. Even if he 
 did not worship Christ — and perhaps she could show him 
 the necessity of that if they shared a perfect confidence — how 
 much had he not done already, by the few words he had 
 spoken, to make her feel and wish to correct her egotism, her 
 self-righteousness, her disregard of others. 
 
 The perfect companionship in the service of right which she 
 had once looked forward to enjoying with Canon Presyllett 
 seemed possible — but not with the Canon. Their methods of 
 thought, their sympathies were so opposed, that companion- 
 ship in the true sense of the word was out of question between 
 
A CELIBATE'S WIFE 247 
 
 them. It was a matter of character, not of creed, and Gabriel 
 
 Lyne She pulled herself up quickly. Surely a lifelong 
 
 companionship with the man who saw things so clearly was too 
 pleasant a thing to be anything but a sin. 
 
 But why? If an artificial, unsympathetic companionship 
 with Canon Presyllett was right, why should the real com- 
 panionship with another be wrong ? 
 
 The Canon had scarcely been well-advised in handing over 
 to his nominal wife the management of his home, for house- 
 hold management was to her the chief feature of marriage. 
 The feature on which the Canon's mind was concentrated did 
 not enter into her consideration at all, except in relation to its 
 effects in the way of children. And the bearing of children, 
 a vague subject on which her actual knowledge was the uncer- 
 tain half-knowledge of a child, simply occurred to her as an 
 increase in household duties, an extra temptation to the absorp- 
 tion in worldly thoughts and human emotions of that enthusiasm 
 which she wished to give whole to the service of God. 
 
 To manage the Canon's house for him made her feel as if 
 she were married to him ; and if marriage in itself was right, 
 then her empty union with the Canon, intended only as a 
 protection against marriage, was useless. It was this association 
 of domestic management with matrimony which had rendered 
 the former so degrading and unbearable to her. She had ac- 
 cepted the task the Canon laid upon her, not because she was 
 his wife, but because, as her spiritual guide, he had prescribed 
 womanly duties, and these womanly duties lay nearest to her 
 hand. She asked herself now why she should perform them 
 for Canon Presyllett rather than for anybody else. The fact 
 that he was a clergyman did not render the service one 
 performed more particularly for God. Her incapacity only 
 threatened to leave him less undisturbed in his spiritual efforts 
 by domestic inconveniences than in the time of Mrs. Graeme. 
 She was not serving God through His ordained minister ; she 
 was simply driving a faithful housekeeper unwillingly from 
 her employment. 
 
 Angela's thoughts were still in a state of indefinite chaos, 
 her mind full of questions to which she had found no answer 
 when she reached Lilac Lodge. 
 
248 A CELIBATE'S WIFE 
 
 Her aunts were out, attending the late harvest festival at 
 Hartle, where the Canon was preaching; and she had to content 
 herself with scribbling an urgent little note to be left with 
 Susannah and given to them when they returned. She was 
 not sorry to be left to the uninterrupted current of her strange 
 thoughts, and she walked back again briskly, thinking them 
 all the way. 
 
 At the end of the Hartle lane she stopped, and tried to 
 see into the darkness with an expectation that was half hope 
 and half fear; but, all unconscious of the mental tumult which 
 he had brought into the girl's mind, Gabriel Lyne was in his 
 cottage a mile away, working hard at his book, and promising 
 himself that it would be finished that night, and allow him to 
 leave Windlehurst and temptation on the morrow. 
 
 The way to the Rectory seemed darker than ever when she 
 turned onwards again, and a strange feeling of fear and uncanni- 
 ness came over her as she opened the gate. The loneliness 
 of the place frightened her as it had never done before, and 
 she uttered a silent prayer for Divine protection as she entered 
 the dark path between the yews. 
 
 The prayer made her feel braver, but in spite of it she uttered 
 an involuntary cry as two figures emerged suddenly out of the 
 darkness carrying something between them. 
 
 It was Jane and the cook carrying a box. 
 
 " Where are you going ? " asked Angela sternly ; and her 
 sternness evoked hostility. 
 
 " Home," said Jane rudely. 
 
 " Are you not afraid of losing your wages and character ? " 
 asked Angela, whose experience with sinners had prepared her 
 in some measure for disputes with servants; and the housemaid 
 laughed. 
 
 " Our wages was paid yesterday, and Mrs. Graeme will give 
 us our characters. People will think more of them than of 
 yours." 
 
 " You are not going too, cook ? " 
 
 " Yes 'm," said the cook less belligerently. " We had the 
 offer of a place together last week, and only stayed out of 
 consideration for poor Mrs. Graeme." 
 
 ** And we aren't going to stay till the chance is gone, and 
 
A CELIBATE'S WIFE 249 
 
 be turned out for nothing," said Jane, whose indignation on 
 the housekeeper's account made her thirst for battle, "not 
 to mention being interfered with by a saint, who treats you 
 for six weeks as if you weren't in the house, and then, when 
 she wants anything done, lectures you as if you was children 
 in her Sunday-school. I wouldn't stay another hour in the 
 house, and cook won't stay without me. John has carried her 
 box home." 
 
 " Is he leaving too ? " 
 
 « No 'm." 
 
 " But I dare say it won't be long before he does," added 
 Jane. 
 
 " Very well ! " said Angela, and she went on her way. On 
 another occasion she might have argued with them, and tried 
 to make them see that they were sinning against duty and 
 conscience more than against herself; but to-night it seemed 
 to her as if she could never speak for God again. How could 
 she be sure that she spoke aright ? 
 
 Her feeling of uncanniness and fear increased as she 
 approached the house, and a light in the study told her that 
 the Canon had come back. 
 
 A new natural life had begun in her with the first awaken- 
 ing of a strong human emotion, and everything had changed. 
 A world of men and women was very complicated and puzzling 
 to her after her world of souls. That had been as simple as 
 a game of chess. Two parties, God and the Devil, on a clear 
 board, with heaven at one end and hell at the other. Every 
 man and woman in the game clearly distinguishable as God's 
 pawn or Devil's pawn, white or black. The laws and limits 
 of the game all known and understood by each pawn, and 
 each pawn conscious of its whiteness or its blackness. The 
 whole game of life had been simplicity itself. And now 
 suddenly everything had become complex. The pawns were 
 attracted to each other or repelled by a thousand considera- 
 tions apart from whiteness or blackness. There was no 
 knowing which was white or which was black. Those she 
 had considered black called themselves white, and seemed to 
 be moving in the same direction towards the same goals as 
 herself. Each pawn had a different idea of the laws of the 
 
250 A CELIBATE'S WIFE 
 
 game, and each seemed to have as much right as herself to 
 consider his or her idea on the subject as good as her own. 
 
 She had emerged suddenly from the spiritual chess-board 
 into a world of men and women, and the change dazzled her. 
 
 She felt the change, but did not know what it was. She 
 wondered why it was that her spiritual partnership with the 
 Canon seemed suddenly a strange, unnatural thing ; that for 
 the first time there appeared some possibility of wrong in the 
 fact of her being under the same roof with him — alone. For 
 the departure of the servants had left them the solitary occu- 
 pants of the Rectory, John the groom sleeping over the 
 stables at the back. 
 
 In the porch she stood still, with an indefinable impulse 
 seizing her to return to Lilac Lodge, and remain there until 
 she had found some solution to the many questions which per- 
 plexed her. But what solution could she trust as right which 
 she had made for herself? She could no longer ask for Divine 
 guidance when past experience had told her how unconsciously 
 her own human ideas and desires could distort the message. 
 Her soul cried out for a human guide to translate to her the 
 leadings of her God, to distinguish for her between His utter- 
 ances and the illusions of her own heart and mind. If she 
 could go to Gabriel Lyne and ask him what she ought to do ! 
 But to accept his leading would have been to desert her 
 Master. She could take no guide but the Canon, and she 
 struggled against her unwillingness to do so, her actual dis- 
 trust of him, as against the rebellion of her heart against 
 Christ, a preference of her own self-opinionated methods 
 before the methods which God Himself had chosen for the 
 subjection of her pride. 
 
 She opened the door slowly and doubtfully, and found her- 
 self face to face with Canon Presyllett, who had caught the 
 sound of her step outside, and was hastening to satisfy him- 
 self that he had not been deserted. 
 
 " Oh ! here you are, dear," he said cheerfully. " I was 
 wondering what had become of you. The servants seem to 
 have taken offence at something. I met them leaving without 
 notice." 
 
 " Yes ; I have been to ask one of my aunts to come and 
 
A CELIBATE'S WIFE 251 
 
 help us," she said quietly. And the open honesty of her 
 manner put him at his ease. He had been half suspicious 
 of a stolen meeting with Lyne. 
 
 " Are they coming to-night ? " 
 
 " They were out, and I left a note ; but I do not expect that 
 they will come till morning." 
 
 An expression of relief crossed his face. It was another 
 bar removed — to a creditable struggle against temptation. 
 
 " We shall be all alone then," he said ; and the Beast echoed 
 the thought jubilantly. 
 
CHAPTER XXVII 
 
 Although she did not know it herself, Angela had come back 
 from her walk, with its tumult of strange questionings, deter- 
 mined to test and examine the Canon's infallibility. Her deter- 
 mination was utterly illogical, of course ; but the same want of 
 logic is found everywhere in questions of infallibility. We base 
 the need of an infallible code or an infallible church upon the 
 fallibility of human reason, and then calmly appeal to that 
 reason we have thus stultified for an acknowledgment that the 
 code or the church bears the signs, whatever they may be, of 
 infallible truth. With the same want of logic, Angela admitted 
 the inability of her reason to lead her aright, but thought of 
 deciding by it whether the leading she accepted in its place 
 was a right or wrong leading. She did not see that she was 
 making, as everybody actually makes, her own judgment the 
 final criterion of right and wrong. 
 
 The infallible truths with every man are those opinions which 
 are so ingrained into his nature, and lie so deep, that they are 
 never questioned. And it is by these that they will ever go 
 through the farce of testing infallibility. 
 
 Among Angela's unquestioned opinions was the assurance 
 that selfish temper was ungodly ; and if the Canon had shown 
 the irritation she expected at the withdrawal of the servants, 
 and had blamed her unkindly, she would have felt inclined to 
 disown him as spiritual leader. 
 
 But the Canon bore the desertion very cheerfully, and she 
 could still cling to the idea of his moral superiority, which 
 seemed so necessary to her. Perhaps his irritation in the past 
 had been necessary for her improvement. Christ Himself had 
 driven out the money-changers with knotted cords, and spoken 
 angrily to the Scribes and Pharisees. .v 
 
A CELIBATE'S WIFE 253 
 
 As she was about to ascend the stairs on the way to her 
 own room, she turned with a sudden impulse, and followed 
 the Canon as he was returning to the candle-lit study. 
 
 " Are you busy, Canon Presyllett ? " 
 
 " I am never busy when you Avant me, Httle one," he said, 
 speaking more tenderly than he had ever done before to her, 
 and he handed her a chair with that clerical politeness which 
 was natural to him in his study, but not so noticeable at the 
 table or elsewhere. Angela remained standing, however, and 
 the Canon took up his position by the old organ, where the 
 glow of the candles illuminated his face. 
 
 "Well! what is it, dear?" he asked with fatherly indul- 
 gence, and his eyes, that looked so spiritual in the light, 
 devoured eagerly the beauty of her thought-quickened face and 
 of her graceful pose, as she stood half undecided just within 
 the door. 
 
 " I was wondering why love is wrong," she said, speaking 
 almost abruptly ; and the Canon started. 
 
 " Why love is wrong ? " he repeated rather more austerely. 
 " Love for whom ? " 
 
 " For anybody. I mean the love that makes men and 
 women marry. How do we know that it is wrong in God's 
 eyes ? " 
 
 The Canon shifted his position uneasily. 
 
 " I hope that you are not thinking that there can be any 
 possible justification for your weakness in giving your affection 
 to an enemy of God," he said more severely still ; and he 
 seemed relieved when Angela answered gravely, with a half- 
 truth which she honestly took for a whole one — 
 
 "No, I was not thinking about that. I was wondering 
 why it would be wrong for me to give my love to anybody. 
 Suppose it was to a real servant of my Master. What is there 
 wrong in love itself ? " 
 
 The clergyman's gaunt face brightened. The concentration 
 of Angela's mind on an abstract principle had blinded her to 
 the fact that her love for Gabriel was at the root of all her 
 questioning, and she had answered so honestly that the poor 
 Canon was deceived. Looking at their nominal marriage in 
 a far different light from that in which she looked at it, he 
 
254 A CELIBATE'S WIFE 
 
 told himself that his question had been absurd, unjust to her. 
 It was quite impossible to think of her trying to justify her 
 love for the Infidel, or requiring any proof of its wickedness, 
 when she was the wife of another man. Steeped to the finger- 
 tips in conventionality himself, it was impossible for him to 
 understand her perfect disregard of the conventions which in 
 her mind had been always associated with worldliness. He 
 would have been inexpressibly shocked to find her weighing 
 against the opinion of society their own agreement that in 
 the sight of God they were unmarried. What then could her 
 question mean ? 
 
 Was it not that, seeing the hopelessness of her passion for 
 Lyne, she was inclined to fall back on the only satisfaction of 
 her passion which could be obtained by a comparative and 
 allowable sin instead of a deadly one. Her questioning 
 seemed like an answer to his prayers. 
 
 But it required delicate answering, for though he had 
 prayed for her to be inspired with passion for himself, his 
 conscience did not allow him to think of satisfying it. With 
 the increase of her submissiveness disappeared all the con- 
 siderations with which he had almost been able to persuade 
 himself that an act needed to cement and strengthen the tie 
 between them would be justified by its result. The time of 
 moral effort to which he had looked forward was about to 
 begin for him, and while he exonerated this weak woman's 
 passion, he must not belittle the importance and necessity of 
 his own struggle. 
 
 " Human love is not wrong in itself," he said slowly ; and 
 Angela started at the enunciation, which meant more to her 
 than she could quite understand. 
 
 He misunderstood the pleased surprise which showed itself 
 in her face. 
 
 " I can understand," he went on, speaking as an inspired' 
 oracle of God might speak, and thinking only of her love for 
 himself, "the love of a woman for a true servant of God, 
 human as the emotion is, being the means in God's hand of 
 keeping her nearer to Himself. It may be the means of 
 curbing her unwomanly self-assertiveness, and make her 
 submit her own faulty judgments to the will and leading of 
 
A CELIBATE'S WIFE 255 
 
 one who has studied the Word of God more thoroughly, 
 and whose experience has made him a better guide than she 
 can ever be to herself. When love makes a woman submit 
 her will to that of a godly man, the instinct is an instrument 
 in the hands of God for good." 
 
 '* And the love of a man for a woman ? " said Angela, whose 
 old scheme of thought in which only the soul was of any im- 
 portance had left her with a fine idea of the complete equality 
 of the sexes. " May not the love of a man for a woman be 
 the means, if she is nearer God than himself, of leading him ? " 
 
 The Canon recalled the occasions on which his wife had 
 presumed to criticise his own conduct, and imagined that she 
 was pleading for the right to do so now. He shook his head 
 forcibly, and fell back on the authority of Scripture. Man 
 was to woman what God was to man. And though it was 
 right for a woman to submit herself to her husband, he must 
 look only to God as his head. 
 
 The subject seemed to be running away from what she 
 wanted to know. 
 
 " I am not talking about submission, but love," she said, 
 moving her pose a little, " love and marriage ? Why should 
 they be wrong ? " 
 
 He paused before replying, rubbing his gaunt hands 
 together thoughtfully. The Beast was urging him to take her 
 beautifully formed body in his arms, to devour her soft cheeks 
 with burning kisses, and tell her that love and real marriage 
 were allowable, and that there was only comparative sin, now 
 that they had gone through a service in church, in satisfying 
 their passion. But he clung to his holiness. The very fact 
 that he believed her willing to make their marriage a real one 
 gave him strength, for it enabled him to feel a sense of supe- 
 riority to her which was worth a great deal to him. It made 
 him feel to the full that sense of being better than other men 
 which, little as he guessed it, was the great support of his 
 asceticism. 
 
 " You used not to doubt that love and marriage were 
 wrong ? " he said, trying to read more of her mind before he 
 answered. " Why ? " 
 
 " It was because I thought them hindrances to God's work. 
 
256 A CELIBATE'S WIFE 
 
 because I thought I ought to spend all my time teaching 
 about God and doing His service, and that domestic duties 
 would take my time and thou^^hts from Him." 
 
 The Canon smiled indulgently. 
 
 "You can serve God in the home just as well as in the 
 streets and schools and in the cottages," he said ; for he had 
 become anxious to see her reconciled to the management of 
 his house, and deplored a good deal of her evangelical work 
 in the village. He pointed out eloquently, in his most per- 
 suasive pulpit manner, that every duty can be done for God, 
 the gardener doing his gardening, the cobbler mending his 
 shoes. That the world could not go on unless they did. That 
 only a few were called to give up all their time to preaching, 
 and that preaching was specially a man's work. That woman's 
 proper sphere was in the home. 
 
 " So you have told me," she answered resignedly, for he 
 had enlarged on the dignity of domestic management before, 
 " and I think it is that which has made me wonder whether 
 I am doing my Master's will any more than a woman who 
 marries. If by loving a good man I am brought nearer to 
 God, and my service for him is accepted as service for my 
 Master, I scarcely see how marriage is wrong." 
 
 The Canon rubbed his gaunt hands together doubtfully. 
 That conventional delicacy which is strongest in those to whom 
 delicacy is not natural and whose minds are not pure, made 
 him shrink from reminding her oT the feature of marriage which 
 she seemed so completely to ignore — its impurity. 
 
 " When we agreed that our marriage should not be a marriage 
 in the eyes of God," he said after a pause, in which he had 
 seen a chance of avoiding the fuller discussion of the question, 
 "your objection to a real marriage was simply an objection 
 to household duties." 
 
 " And to subjecting my will, I think, to that of another of 
 God's creatures," she said slowly, trying to read her own past 
 mind truthfully. 
 
 He smiled indulgently, and crossed the room to take her 
 hands unresistingly in his. 
 
 " Then I can tell you, little woman, that both those objec- 
 tions need not have weighed with you. They both arose from 
 
A CELIBATE'S WIFE 257 
 
 that pride and self-will which I have more than once had to 
 deplore in you, and which you have been mistaken in taking 
 for religious zeal. Nothing can be more honourable than 
 womanly service ; nothing is more necessary than that a woman 
 should bow her judgment and will to those of one who can lead 
 and teach her." 
 
 She had let her hands lie cold in his while he spoke, shrink- 
 ing instinctively from the contact, but striving against the 
 instinct, as against something foolish, a distrust of and oppo- 
 sition to her spiritual adviser. 
 
 Now she drew them away almost angrily, her face taking a 
 look of distress. 
 
 " Then why did you let me take a vow against marriage ? " 
 she asked, with indignant remonstrance in her voice. 
 
 The poor Canon, in his self-centredness and crass ignorance 
 of woman's nature, imagined still that the remonstrance was 
 against the emptiness of their marriage ; and her supposed in- 
 feriority to his own perfect purity made his face take a more 
 inspired glow of spiritual exaltation. 
 
 "I imagined at the time of our marriage that you were 
 actuated by the same motives as myself; that you desired to 
 live in a state of perfect purity, to keep your earthly body 
 unsullied by the indulgences of the flesh. It is not many who 
 are called to the holy state of celibacy, and for those who 
 have not the gift of continence God has allowed in His wisdom 
 the refuge of matrimony, as we read in our Book of Common 
 Prayer, in order that they may avoid the deadly sin of fornica- 
 tion. But while matrimony is allowable for such, we must 
 not forget for a moment that what God really demands for 
 perfect holiness, perfect purity, is absolute sinlessness, and that 
 He only allows marriage to those who find the flesh too weak 
 for absolute purity like His. Do you find yourself too weak ? " 
 
 "I do not think that I am too weak, with my Master's 
 help, to do everything He requires of me," she said, completely 
 puzzled by his words, which conveyed no definite meaning to 
 her mind, and unable to understand the idea of comparative 
 sin, which had never included itself in her scheme of thought. 
 " What I wanted to know is how we can be sure that marriage 
 is wrong. All my old ideas seem wrong somehow, and I have 
 
 R 
 
258 A CELIBATE'S WIFE 
 
 been wondering whether that was not among the erroneous 
 ones which I have accepted for want of thought. Bishop 
 Bayliss is married. And to-night I looked in at Goodchild's 
 cottage as I passed. He was reading the Bible to his wife, 
 while she rocked the cradle; and when the baby woke he 
 kissed them both, and somehow I could not think — was it 
 wrong of me ? — that our Master could be angry because they 
 were married and loved each other. I cannot feel that it is 
 wrong." 
 
 The Canon smiled indulgently. She had reached the basis 
 of his belief, one of those ideas which he held without 
 question, and if she did not feel the impurity of actual 
 marriage, as he did, it was impossible for him to argue with 
 her. He could only rest content on his higher platform, 
 feeling that his nature was holier than hers. Nor did he wish 
 to convince her. His experiment in holiness demanded that 
 she should remain unconvinced. 
 
 " In that case, little woman," he said, with the look of exalta- 
 tion on his face which came from his sense of spiritual supe- 
 riority, " I should say that God would impute no sin to you if 
 your marriage became a real one. I should release you from 
 your vow if by so doing I was not obliged to release myself. 
 But that I cannot do. The vow bears hardly on you, perhaps, 
 but you must not repine, remembering that if you cannot see 
 its sacredness, I see it, and you are enabling me to persevere 
 in that pursuit of the highest purity which is demanded from 
 me, if not from you. Let us pray together, Angela." 
 
 The argument had reached the conclusion for which he 
 wished, and he fell back upon his old trick of prayer to 
 prevent any further questioning on his wife's part, which 
 would only involve difficult and useless talking. It did not 
 occur to him to feel pity for the girl's perfect perplexity. 
 The love and care of his own soul prevented him giving 
 the fact a moment's thought, and he was on his knees before 
 she could open her lips. 
 
 She knelt- down perfunctorily at the table, unable to con- 
 centrate her mind on the eloquent appeal which she did not 
 half understand, and for once found her eyes opening and 
 her thoughts straying. 
 
A CELIBATE^S WIFE 259 
 
 She had vaguely noticed, as she stood talking, a little heap 
 of books on the study table. Now, as her eyes opened, they 
 fell on them again, and she read the title of the nearest. It 
 was " Personal Purity, by Gabriel Lyne." The books were 
 those she had ordered, then, and of which the Canon had 
 taken possession. One of them was open, as if he had been 
 reading it. Angela had become quite unconscious of the 
 prayer, which sounded in her ears as a mere musical setting 
 to her thoughts. She moved her head to read another title 
 It was " Christ against Christianity." 
 
 Then the Infidel believed in Christ, and had only cast oft 
 the interpretation which men like Canon Presyllett placed 
 upon His words. If so, then the question was not between 
 Christ and the Infidel, but between Gabriel's opinion and that 
 of the Canon ; and how did she know that the Canon's was 
 right and Gabriel's wrong ? The thoughts carried her away. 
 
 When the Canon rose from his knees, and Angela, hearing 
 a cessation in the musical accompaniment to her thoughts, 
 got up guiltily, realising that her heart and mind had not 
 joined in the prayer, it seemed to the clergyman that the 
 appeal to Deity had succeeded in its purpose. His wife, with 
 a suppressed air, showed no sign of renewing the conversation, 
 which had ended so satisfactorily with a justification of passion 
 for her but not for him. 
 
 In reality she was anxious to be alone to think over the 
 effect of his words, which meant something so much different 
 to her from what he intended, and she held out her hand. 
 
 " Good-night." 
 
 " Good-night, dear : but won't you take a little supper ? 
 You are looking rather pale." 
 
 " I shall not want any, thanks. You mil find it laid for 
 you in the dining-room. I saw that it was done as usual 
 before Jane gave notice." 
 
 " We shall have to see about getting new maids for you, 
 dear, to-morrow." 
 
 Angela gave a sign of assent, but she was asking herself 
 whether on the morrow she would be taking an interest in 
 Canon Presyllett's domestic affairs. If marriage was not 
 wrong — and her spiritual leader had told her distinctly that 
 
26o A CELIBATE'S WIFE 
 
 for her it was not wrong — then her spiritual partnership with 
 him was useless, and she might possibly abandon it. She did 
 not know to what course the new light might lead her, and 
 she was hungry to be alone to straighten out the thoughts 
 which overwhelmed her. 
 
 When she reached her bedroom, and tried to turn the key 
 as usual, she found that the lock refused to act ; but the fact 
 did not disturb her. The locking of her door was little more 
 than a habit intended to keep her free from disturbance during 
 her devotions, and there was no fear of disturbance, she told 
 herself, now that the housekeeper and servants had gone, and 
 Canon Presyllett was the only person besides herself in the 
 house. 
 
 After an unsuccessful struggle with the key, she contented 
 herself with simply closing the door, and, without lighting the 
 lamp, threw herself on her knees by the bed to think and 
 pray. 
 
CHAPTER XXVIII 
 
 A HARVEST festival anywhere in the neighbourhood was a 
 matter of importance to the old maids of Lilac Lodge, whose 
 Christianity, even at its normal strength, compelled them to 
 look to the church for that entertainment which the worldly 
 get from theatres and music-halls. The desire to see the 
 decorations, to hear a special anthem, with the accompani- 
 ment of an amateur string band, appealed to exactly the same 
 emotions which draw others to worldly places of amusement ; 
 but the association of these attractions with a church made 
 the entertainment religious, and, what was much the same 
 thing to them, respectable. 
 
 The fact that their own Rector was to preach the harvest 
 thanksgiving service at Hartle made them all the more ready 
 to tramp the three miles and more each way, along a dark road, 
 in the cause of religion ; for the sensation of feeling themselves 
 connected with the preacher, and sharing, in some indefinite 
 way which they both enjoyed, the reflection of his importance 
 and eloquence, was staling at Windlehurst, but would be fresh 
 at Hartle. 
 
 It was very likely, too, that the Canon would take them home 
 in his brougham, both lessening the discomforts of the journey 
 and increasing its glories. 
 
 The hope was a vain one, as it turned out. The Canon, 
 who was in his most exalted mood, noticed the two modest 
 little figures as he preached, but the inspiration of his theme 
 soon carried his mind far above them, and he was still deep 
 in a holy reverie as he passed them without notice shyly hesi- 
 tating at the gate, and closed behind him the door of his 
 stylish carriage. 
 
 The value of his time for spiritual work rendered justifiable 
 
 261 
 
262 A CELIBATE'S WIFE 
 
 for him the comparative sin of owning and using a very fine 
 pair of bays and an equipage to match, as did also the need 
 of maintaining for Christ's sake the dignity of his position as 
 His earthly representative. 
 
 The turn-out looked very handsome to the two Httle 
 Tomtits holding their breath in anticipation of the cleric's 
 notice, and they perked their heads round apprehensively 
 towards the church door as the coachman whipped up his 
 horses, wondering whether the incident had been seen by the 
 old verger. 
 
 They had both whispered together to him, as they entered 
 looking for a seat, that they were the aunts of Canon Pre- 
 syllett, and their dismay at the clergyman's want of notice was 
 increased by the fear that their words might be disbelieved. 
 
 They drew up their best silk skirts and started for the dark 
 trudge home rather ruefully. Prudence taking a lantern from 
 under her cape when they were out of the immediate neigh- 
 bourhood of the church. 
 
 But their disappointment, while it saddened them both, was 
 such an equal one to each, that it drew them together, and 
 made each more amiable than usual. 
 
 They agreed that the anthem had been very beautiful, 
 but that the tenor was rather out of tune. They agreed, 
 now the entertainment was over, that the string band hardly 
 agreed with their idea of decorum in a church, and wondered 
 together whether dear Canon Presyllett quite approved of 
 an innovation which they could not help thinking was rather 
 theatrical. 
 
 " The dear Canon spoke very beautifully," said Iphigenia, 
 who had recovered from her temporary "conversion" sufficiently 
 to look upon a sermon once more as an exhibition intended 
 for her enjoyment and criticism ; an appeal directed to other 
 people, which she might kindly declare satisfactory or other- 
 wise, according to the degree in which it seemed to her likely 
 to affect them, perhaps, but chiefly as an exhibition of elocution 
 to please her ear. 
 
 " Very very beautiful ! " chimed in Prudence. "His exhor- 
 tation against the ingratitude of the farmers who grumble at 
 God's weather was very forcible, and would touch a good many, 
 
A CELIBATE'S WIFE 263 
 
 I think. I was glad to see that Captain Benson was there. 
 He grumbles so much." 
 
 " Even when his living does not depend upon it," agreed 
 Iphigenia, who had been cross all the week because an early 
 frost had killed a plant in the garden. 
 
 " I wonder that poor Angela was not there to hear her 
 husband," went on the elder sister. 
 
 " Yes ; it would have seemed nicer of her, I thought as we 
 came out. She would have been sure to see us. The Canon 
 is so wrapped up in his thoughts after preaching." 
 
 There was a long pause, as they each trudged along thinking 
 once more of their disappointment. 
 
 It was Prudence who began again, dropping her voice. 
 
 " I have never said so before to a soul, dear, but somehow 
 it seems to me that Angela and her husband do not seem 
 quite suited to one another. They scarcely form what I 
 should call a united couple." 
 
 " I do not think that Angela would get along very well with 
 anybody," said Iphigenia, with a little of her old spite for the 
 girl who had carried off the matrimonial prize of the village; 
 " she is so opinionated, so fond of her own way." 
 
 " Has it never occurred to you as rather strange that the 
 Canon should have married her ? " asked Prudence, more 
 confidentially than ever ; and her sister, acquainted with the 
 significance of every change in her intonation, became curious. 
 
 " Oh ! I suppose it was likely enough when she set up for 
 being so much holier than other people. Men are so easily 
 deceived by an outward appearance. Angela's infatuation for 
 that terrible man Lyne must have opened his eyes a little. 
 But why do you ask ? " 
 
 Prudence avoided the direct question. 
 
 " He had seen so very little of her when he asked her to be 
 his wife," she went on, pursuing her own argument. " Did it 
 never occur to you as remarkable that he should make a pro- 
 posal of marriage to a girl whom he had scarcely seen ? " 
 
 "What do you mean?" asked Iphigenia with sharp curiosity. 
 
 Prudence hesitated, dangling the lamp in her hand thought- 
 fully, so that its feeble ray of lieht danced from side to side of 
 the dark path. 
 
264 A CELIBATE'S WIFE 
 
 "Well! you see Angela was Miss Gaydon," she said 
 slowly. 
 
 « Of course." 
 
 "And I am Miss Gaydon. And though the Canon 
 had scarcely seen Angela, he was certainly quite intimate 
 with me." 
 
 "Well?" said her sister again, her voice abrupt with a 
 vague suspicion of what was coming. 
 
 " Well ! you may think me wrong," said Prudence, preparing 
 for opposition, " but I cannot help thinking more and more 
 every day that there has been a terrible mistake. You know 
 how kind and self-sacrificing Adrian is ; and if Angela — well ! 
 just supposing that she had taken to herself some remark 
 of the Canon's which referred to me, and admitted her love 
 in consequence, I am sure that Adrian is just the man who 
 would have sacrificed himself rather than place her in a false 
 position." 
 
 Iphigenia stopped dead in the road. 
 
 "Do you mean to suggest that Canon Presyllett really 
 wished to marry you ? " 
 
 Prudence cast down her eyes shyly — although this tribute 
 to maidenly modesty was lost in the darkness. 
 
 " I could never help noticing that the Canon treated me 
 with an unusual respect, and don't you think it rather curious, 
 dear, that directly / suggested the dismissal of Mrs. Graeme 
 he acted upon my advice ? Don't you think, considering the 
 fact that Angela and I are each ' Miss Gaydon,' that there is 
 some chance of the marriage being a mistake ? " 
 
 Iphigenia's whole soul rose in revolt. She had granted her 
 sister one lover to balance her own ; she could not admit 
 another to her credit. She paused, searching for an argument 
 to demolish her claim, and finding none sufficiently conclusive. 
 In her heart she was beginning to wonder whether the ex- 
 planation of the perfectly unexpected marriage of the Canon 
 with a stranger might not be that it was a mistake, as 
 Prudence suggested, and that the woman he had intended 
 to marry was herself. 
 
 But while she was thinking, another consideration occurred 
 to her. 
 
A CELIBATE'S WIFE 265 
 
 " I suppose that you will call me foolish and romantic," ran 
 on Prudence, " but I cannot help thinking what I do. Of 
 course I should not have married the Canon. When the heart 
 has once been blighted, it is hard to love again." 
 
 She sighed sadly, and they began walking again. 
 
 "Of course there is* nothing to prove that you are wrong 
 dear," said Iphigenia, so gently that her sister started. " The 
 marriage did certainly seem very strange, and if the dear 
 Canon had given his heart to anybody, I can hardly think that 
 it was to Angela. And, thinking what you do, it would 
 scarcely be right of you, do you think, to take up your position 
 under the same roof as him when Angela wants one of us to 
 help her in the management of the Rectory. Putting aside 
 all question of propriety, it would not be kind to the Canon, 
 would it, dear ? " 
 
 Prudence had not thought of this side to the question, and 
 she flushed angrily. 
 
 " I shall certainly not show by my actions that I doubt the 
 Canon's perfect fidelity to Angela, now that he has married 
 her," she said, with her little beak in the air ; and her sister 
 answered very mildly — 
 
 " I was only thinking of his feelings." 
 
 They had reached the forbidding front of Gabriel Lyne's 
 cottage as she spoke, and, with a common fear of the unholy 
 spot, the sisters linked arms quite affectionately and ceased 
 speaking ; trying even to tread more lightly, lest the creature 
 within should hear them and pounce out to injure or destroy 
 them. 
 
 They breathed more freely when they were past, and Pru- 
 dence, who had pondered the question during the lull of dis- 
 guised hostilities, began toning down the Canon's love for 
 herself into a warm attachment and respect, which encouraged 
 her to think that by staying in the house she could use more 
 influence than her sister in securing a greater state of confi 
 dence between husband and wife. 
 
 The play of ingenuity was still continuing when they reached 
 the church and encountered the two runaway servants from 
 the Rectory with their box between them. 
 
 Prudence pounced upon them full of questions, and the 
 
266 A CELIBATE'S WIFE 
 
 belligerent Jane was glad of another opportunity of airing her 
 independence. The little old maids were soon acquainted 
 with the state of affairs at the Rectory, and stood still, looking 
 .at one another, when the girls had gone on. 
 
 " Don't you think that I ought to go there at once ? " said 
 Iphigenia. " Angela will be at her wits' end." 
 
 " Just the reason that we should leave her alone until she 
 sends for one of us," said Prudence, her round eyes lighting 
 up vindictively. " She will see now that she ought to have 
 sent for us immediately Mrs. Graeme left. I shall not offer 
 my services again unsought, and I trust that you have sufficient 
 sense of dignity, Iphigenia, to take the same course. If Canon 
 Presyllett and his wife need us, let them send for us." 
 
 Iphigenia had a sneaking inclination to forget the fact that 
 the housekeeper had been gone two full days without any sign 
 of a request for their presence, but her sister's words made her 
 ashamed of her tender-heartedness, and Prudence's stronger 
 will conquered as usual. 
 
 They turned homewards, chatting pleasantly about the 
 straits that their niece would be in without a single servant 
 and with no idea of household management or domestic duty. 
 
 In her heart of hearts Iphigenia was still feeling a hidden 
 sympathy for her, and when they reached home and found 
 Angela's note waiting for them, she seized it eagerly as a 
 justification of immediate forgiveness. 
 
 But Prudence was still obdurate. 
 
 " I shall certainly not lower myself by appearing so anxious," 
 she said with a superior air, which made her sister once more 
 ashamed of her kindly impulse, "after Mrs. Presyllett has 
 shown us so plainly that she wished to dispense with our 
 services until they were absolutely necessary. I must say 
 that I am rather surprised at a sister of mine suggesting such 
 a thing. In the morning I shall walk over — I am the elder, 
 and it would only be right for me to go first. But I shall 
 certainly not go till after breakfast. You may, of course, go 
 at once if you like, but I have no doubt that Angela would 
 wonder very much why you have given her the trouble of 
 providing you with a bed at this hour, when there cannot 
 possibly be anything to do." 
 
A CELIBATE^S WIFE 267 
 
 " I suppose it might look strange," said Iphigenia, persuaded 
 against her will, " but I thought it was decided that I should 
 take the first turn at helping Angela, since she has always 
 shown such a preference for me." 
 
 The outstanding quarrel for priority of visit began again 
 vigorously, and it was no nearer a settlement when they re- 
 tired for the night. It often seems a pity that women have 
 never learnt to toss a penny. 
 
CHAPTER XXIX 
 
 Canon Presyllett felt especially spiritual and exalted. His 
 wife's supposed surrender of all desire for perfect purity in 
 answer to the demands of her passion, heightened by contrast 
 the grandeur of his own holiness. Like the Pharisee of old, 
 he thanked God that He had made him better than other 
 men. Not that he worded it in that fashion even to him- 
 self. Nineteen centuries of civilisation robbed him of his 
 predecessor's open honesty of expression. 
 
 When Angela had left him he fell on his knees and gave 
 thanks that he had been mercifully led to do his Maker's 
 will undefiled in the midst of a generation which ignored it, 
 and he felt very holy indeed. 
 
 The sensation lasted until the end of his frugal supper, 
 when, with the unconsciousness of habit, he rang for the maid 
 to clear the table. The unanswered ring reminded him that 
 he was alone in the house with his wife, with a beautifully 
 formed woman, young, soft-skinned, and tenderly modelled. 
 The Beast woke suddenly in him full of strength and eloquence, 
 and recounted her charms — charms which he might enjoy 
 without a single remonstrance from the world or from the 
 creature herself, who chafed already against the emptiness of 
 the tie which bound them together in the eyes of society. 
 There was no longer even a locked door between them, for 
 he had bent the key by turning it too far. Not that he had 
 deliberately decided to render it useless. In passing earlier 
 in the day, the question had entered his mind whether it could 
 be done, and a single experiment had ruined the key. 
 
 He walked to the door, intending to cross to the study to 
 wrestle in prayer there with God, but at the foot of the stairs 
 he stopped, and with one hand on the baluster stood listening. 
 
 268 
 
A CELIBATE'S WIFE 269 
 
 He wanted to know the full strength of his temptation, and 
 strained his ears, listening for any sound that would tell him 
 whether Angela had really retired yet, or was sitting up, as 
 she so often did over her devotions. The house was very 
 silent, and he could hear his breath coming in short pants. 
 His hands had turned suddenly hot and dry ; his legs shook 
 with the excitement of his passion. He mounted a couple 
 of the stairs, and the act frightened him. A sense of horror 
 swept over him at the thought of what those two steps meant, 
 drove him with a sudden determination into the study, and 
 flung him on his knees in prayer. 
 
 The prayer weakened his will, as it lessened his dependence 
 upon it and his sense of its responsibility. He felt, without 
 daring to put the feeling into thoughts, that he had thrown 
 the responsibility on God ; he had begged Him with all the 
 strength of his emotion to save him from falUng. If he fell, 
 it was God who had not given him the strength, and the sin 
 was God's. He had nothing to do in the matter but watch 
 in which way God made him act. 
 
 The thought left him Ustening to the Beast again. To-night 
 they were alone. To-morrow one of the aunts would be in 
 the house, and her presence would be a disturbing element. 
 For even if his wife had theoretically abandoned her holiness, 
 he would no doubt have to contend against some amount of 
 hesitation on her part, due chiefly to physical instincts. It 
 was knowledge that came to him, unfortunately, from a past 
 experience of his earlier days, before prudence had led him 
 in his occasional lapses to avail himself only of purchasable 
 complaisance. Yes, the presence of Miss Prudence or Miss 
 Iphigenia in the house would certainly be inconvenient, and 
 the Beast whispered that only twelve hours remained to him 
 that he could call his own, twelve hours in which he would be 
 face to face with conscience alone. 
 
 This sense of having an opportunity which might not occur 
 again made his fall certain. Whatever strength of denial he 
 had — and the fact of his comparative continence and real 
 abstemiousness showed in a man of his natural coarseness that 
 it was a very great strength indeed — was due to his power 
 and love of delaying a gratification which he could enjoy at 
 
270 A CELIBATE'S WIFE 
 
 any time, never on his power of abandoning the idea of 
 gratification altogether. His sensual conception of heaven 
 saved him from the necessity of doing so. His real idea of 
 holiness was not the annihilation of his lusts, but the holding 
 out against them until they could be gratified without sin in 
 another existence. Not that he admitted the fact to him- 
 self. A man's true creed is always the one which he never 
 expresses even to himself. 
 
 But while his actual creed prevented him absolutely abandon- 
 ing the idea of any gratification, it enabled him to luxuriate in 
 the subtle pleasure of delaying it. With the prospect before 
 him of his wife remaining always amenable to his will, and 
 ready at a word to make their nominal marriage a real one, 
 it is quite possible that he could have delayed the satisfaction 
 of his passion indefinitely, with a keener enjoyment of the 
 pleasure, surely no less unclean, of gloating over its possibility, 
 and his own superiority to its temptation. But the bare sug- 
 gestion of a Umit to the possibility was fatal to his strength. 
 
 To-morrow, said the Beast, she may change. Her moods 
 and opinions change rapidly. For twelve hours only she 
 is yours. 
 
 He thought it was the Angel which answered, laying a stress 
 on the fact that twelve hours yet remained to him ; for the 
 consideration cooled him suddenly, and seemed to raise him 
 out of the heat and excitement of temptation. It seemed to 
 him that God had given him the strength for which he prayed, 
 and had made the temptation of the flesh cease to appeal 
 to him. 
 
 If he could have read deeply into his heart and purpose, 
 he might have seen that he had already fallen ; that he had 
 promised himself the satisfaction of his lust before possible 
 opposition from outside might rob him of his opportunity, but 
 that he had decided to enjoy a little longer the pleasure of 
 thinking that he was denying himself. 
 
 But the Canon was never honest with himself, and he 
 enjoyed the calm which had come over him without realising 
 its cause. He fell on his knees and thanked God for having 
 given him strength, and then seated himself to read the Bible, 
 turning more or less consciously to its records of passion and 
 
A CELIBATE'S WIFE 271 
 
 lust — David and Bathsheba, Lot and his daughters, the whoring 
 of the children of Israel after the Midianites. Where the sin 
 of these people was followed by an actual punishment he 
 felt uncomfortable, and turned from the passage to another, 
 resenting, he did not know why, the physical expression of the 
 anger of the Almighty. The uncomfortable thoughts with 
 which the reading filled him made him close the book, and 
 he took up one of Gabriel Lyne's volumes, which he had been 
 glancing through when Angela returned from the village. 
 
 He selected that on " Personal Purity." But the book did 
 not give him any of the satisfaction he had expected from it. 
 Its calm philosophical arguments came like a cold-water 
 douche on the warm glow of emotion in which he was 
 luxuriating — a glow which owed itself really as much to the 
 unadmitted anticipation of his fall as to the pleasurable 
 enjoyment of that holiness which enabled him to delay it. 
 His physical sense of passion -excitement which threw a 
 romantic light over the considered sin was equally necessary 
 to each emotion, and the romance was threatened by Gabriel's 
 cold matter-of-fact practicalness. The Canon shrank instinc- 
 tively from the arguments which made his passion for a 
 woman, simply as a female animal, an offence against himself, 
 against his mental and moral nature, and against women. To 
 say that it was rendered possible only by an utter absence of 
 sensibility and of sympathy for women, was to make the 
 presence of his passion a degradation, whether he submitted 
 to its demands or not ; and the gospel was not at all pleasing 
 to the good man hugging his passion and his holiness at the 
 same moment. 
 
 He threw the book away from him, his physical passion 
 cooled by the conception which his mind had involuntarily 
 formed, in answer to Gabriel's argument, of his wife as a 
 woman with heart and mind which could be affected for good 
 or evil by his action. 
 
 This is the conception which, according to Gabriel Lyne, 
 was the great safeguard to a man against that passion which 
 sees in woman only a means to physical enjoyment. But of 
 course Gabriel Lyne was only an infidel, and did not believe 
 in heaven or hell, in the pleasing or displeasing of the Active 
 
272 A CELIBATE'S WIFE 
 
 Spirit of all things, whose will being the one will in creation, 
 could not be opposed. 
 
 " Irreligious trash ! " said the Canon aloud, as he threw the 
 book away from him in disgust ; and then, with a sudden sus- 
 picion of the effect which it might have on his wife's mind if 
 she read it, he gathered all the volumes together, and unlock- 
 ing an old-fashioned medicine cupboard which stood in an 
 angle of the wall, he heaped them together on a shelf there, 
 so that he might keep them under lock and key, safe from her 
 curiosity. 
 
 He would go to bed ; he had conquered temptation, he told 
 himself; and he walked upstairs bravely and past the unlocked 
 door of his wife's room. But in his heart of hearts he knew 
 that temptation was not conquered ; that he was going to bed, 
 not to sleep until his hours of free undisturbed opportunity 
 were passed — but to wait. 
 
 But he could not be honest with himself, and he tried to 
 deceive himself further by settling himself for sleep. Then he 
 lay thinking about the nearness of his wife's room on the floor 
 beneath him, and of the ease with which he could reach it. 
 
 Midnight struck from the hall clock, sounding loud in the 
 complete silence of the house. She was certain to be asleep 
 now. He rose from his bed, and opened the door of his room 
 to listen. No, he could hear her moving. 
 
 " Better wait till she is asleep," said the Beast ; and after he 
 had returned to bed, he took the voice for that of the Angel, 
 congratulating himself that once more he had conquered a 
 sudden onslaught of temptation. 
 
 The mental strain was becoming painful, and he made up 
 his mind to dismiss the subject entirely from his mind for an 
 hour, not as an aid against its temptation, but because his 
 moral struggle was robbed of free play when he found himself 
 considering what amount of argument and persuasion his wife 
 would require before submitting to a course which he had been 
 forced to tell her was sinless for her but sinful for him. In 
 an hour she would certainly be asleep, and he busied himself 
 repeating mechanically the words of the Morning Service in 
 the Book of Common Prayer, to pass the time. 
 
 He thought that it was impossible for him to fall asleep. 
 
A CELIBATE'S WIFE 473 
 
 but he had under-estimated the somnolent effects of the Litany. 
 He woke up suddenly wide awake, full of fierce regret at the 
 loss of a great opportunity. The gratification he lusted for 
 seemed all the greater now that he appeared to have lost, for 
 the present at any rate, the special chance of enjoying it. He 
 allowed himself for a moment to admit what his purpose had 
 been, and that he had sacrificed it, not through holiness, but 
 through sheer physical fatigue. The next the darkness of the 
 room reassured him, and he sprang out of bed and struck a 
 match to look at his watch. It was not four o'clock yet, and 
 he drew a breath of relief. 
 
 The Beast, maddened by the imagined loss of his prey, was 
 not to be silenced now, and the Canon walked to the door 
 and crept downstairs without a remonstrating thought. But 
 at the door of Angela's bedroom his lust for holiness asserted 
 itself again. He had no real intention of abandoning the 
 satisfaction of his passion, but he wanted to satisfy his other 
 contending emotion as far as possible, and he went downstairs 
 to pray once more in the study. 
 
 If he had imagined that the prayer would avail anything 
 he would not have gone, but he knew that it would make 
 no difference, that it would only enable him to throw more 
 of the responsibility on God. If he prayed earnestly, and 
 God still allowed him to sin — the same old unexpressed 
 argument. 
 
 His impatience shortened his prayer. The restlessness of 
 fully aroused passion prevented him even going through an 
 emotional pretence of earnestness. His devoutness had left 
 him, and the loss of it, the inability to centre his thoughts on 
 God, was unbearable to him. He felt that he could never fix 
 his thoughts calmly on holy things again while this struggle 
 in him was distracting all his thoughts ; and the ending of the 
 struggle, whether he conquered or not, became an end worth 
 striving for, to enable him to resume that frame of mind in 
 which alone it was possible for him to hold communion with 
 his God. His memory began to paint for him in glowing 
 colours the devout peacefulness which came over him after he 
 had sinned, when, with nothing but hatred and physical loath- 
 ing for the pleasure which had ensnared him, he could throw 
 
 s 
 
274 A CELIBATE'S WIFE 
 
 himself on his knees before his God, casting the burden of his 
 sin on the atoning Saviour of mankind, and become full of 
 the sense of forgiveness and renewed hohness, and strong in 
 resolves for the future. 
 
 Between that blissful and devout state and his present 
 passion-lashed chaos of thought, in which it was impossible to 
 fix his mind on God for two consecutive moments, lay a few 
 minutes spent in sin — he did not deny to himself that it was 
 sin, or try to persuade himself that it was in his case allow- 
 able sin. His absolute need for that sense of superiority to 
 other men, which was at the root of all his asceticism, made it 
 necessary that he should consider God as demanding absolute 
 purity from him. It was actual sin, but it would be over in a 
 few minutes, and he could claim forgiveness for it. The only 
 danger was that he might die in those few minutes, an un- 
 repentant sinner. But he was not ill, or old, or in danger. 
 He was sure to live, and he opened the door of the study, 
 determined to risk his soul on the certainty that he would 
 live through the next quarter-of-an-hour. He shivered as he 
 walked from the dark room into the still darker hall, but not 
 with cold. Although he had thrown only a light dressing- 
 gown over his sleeping-dress, he was quite unconscious of the 
 chilliness of the night. His head and his hands were burning. 
 How silent the house was. Could he be sure that it contained 
 no hidden danger that would rise to thrust him, with black sin 
 on his soul, into an eternity of torment ? He tried to laugh 
 at his cowardice, and his hand groped out for the end of the 
 balustrade which would guide him to his wife's room. His 
 heart leapt at the thought of it. His mind filled with sensuous 
 imaginings, and he walked more quickly towards the stairs, 
 with hands outspread before him. 
 
 But even as he did so he stopped abruptly, all his panic of 
 death returning. For he had heard distinctly the sound of 
 steps on the gravel path outside the house. 
 
 He stopped, listening, his heart beating violently. Yes, 
 they were steps certainly hurrying to the porch, and now he 
 could hear in the night silence a hand fumbling for the bell. 
 
 The sound reassured him, and he walked to the door. But 
 the chance of danger made him murmur a prayer for forgive- 
 
A CELIBATE'S WIFE 275 
 
 ness as he did so, a tentative prayer, not intended to affect his 
 future actions if the incident passed safely. 
 
 "Who is there?" he asked hoarsely, unlocking the door 
 without unloosening the chain. 
 
 It was one of the villagers, who had run up to the Rectory 
 in breathless haste. A row of cottages was burning in the 
 village — the Rector could see the red glow of it from the 
 doorway — some people had been suffocated. The infidel 
 cobbler had been mortally injured, and was crying for a 
 clergyman, in frenzied terror of hell fire. Would the Rector 
 came at once ? 
 
 Canon Presyllett did not hesitate for a moment ; he never 
 did in a case like this. The man in him was thrust into the 
 background, and as he hastened into his clothes, to carry con- 
 solation and hope to the repentant sinner, his passion had 
 gone, and he was wholly a priest. 
 
 For the moment Angela was saved. 
 
CHAPTER XXX 
 
 " Love and marriage are quite right for me in God's eyes." 
 
 Angela repeated the words to herself wonderingly, as she 
 walked away from the Canon's presence after his enunciation 
 on the subject. The truth of the words had been forcing 
 itself more and more upon her reason since her knowledge of 
 love had taken away the childish prejudice she had treasured 
 against it, together with her instinctive dislike to the idea of 
 being kissed or caressed by a man. And now the decision of 
 her reason had been confirmed by authority. Whether she 
 listened to the dictates of her reason, or to the only authority 
 which she could see offering itself in its place, she must rest 
 assured that the sacrifice she had believed herself making to 
 her Master when she went through the form of marriage with 
 the Rector of Windlehurst was one which He had never 
 required of her. She was no holier in His sight than the 
 women around her who loved and married. All that she had 
 done had been to provide the Canon with an outward symbol 
 for the protection of that celibacy which he seemed to think 
 incumbent upon a minister of God. As far as she could 
 understand him, he would release her from the covenant into 
 which they had entered, and let her be free again to act like 
 other women, only that by so doing he would be left himself 
 without this appearance of marriage which he needed to pre- 
 vent the ladies of his congregation running after him; and 
 Angela could not restrain a feeling of resentment against him. 
 She felt as if he had tricked her into the marriage simply for 
 his own convenience, by encouraging her wrong impression that 
 marriage was something she also must avoid to please God. 
 
 She remembered now that her conscience had revolted 
 against the deceit of the form through which she had gone, 
 
 376 
 
A CELIBATE'S WIFE 277 
 
 and new faith in the leading of her conscience sprung up in 
 her. Had it not played her false only when it persuaded her 
 to take the Canon's idea of right as better and truer than her 
 own ? She tried to think why she had lost faith in the leading 
 of the inner light within her. Was it not simply because she 
 had believed love to be wrong ? 
 
 If love was right — and reason and authority combined to 
 declare it so — the inner light was justified again, and she might 
 still follow its leading. 
 
 With a sudden flash of delightful illumination, she saw in 
 her attempted conversion of Gabriel Lyne once more the clear 
 leading of her God. It was true that half her enthusiasm had 
 been due to an earthly love, but now it was possible to believe 
 that this love had been inspired by her Master so that Gabriel 
 and she might teach each other. She no longer thought of 
 the teaching being all on one side. Gabriel, with his disregard 
 of Christ, must still need leading nearer to God than he was, 
 but Angela had to admit that in many things she could learn 
 from him. Their love was surely ordained by her Master, so 
 that they could help each other. 
 
 The Canon had told her that love in woman was an instru- 
 ment in God's hands to make her submit her will and judg- 
 ment to that of a wiser man. Surely no man was wiser than 
 Gabriel. To submit her judgment to his was a natural, effort- 
 less thing. Already she saw that he had changed the whole 
 current of her thoughts. She knew that she had become 
 suddenly a different woman, a better one. She shrank in- 
 stinctively from the picture of herself before she met Gabriel — 
 how full of self- righteousness she had been, how confident of her 
 superiority to all around her ; and now she dared not call her- 
 self better than the villager's wife nursing her baby in a humble 
 cottage, she could not call herself better than the Infidel whom 
 she had imagined so degraded and sinful. And she knew that 
 her present humility was better than her old pride, knew it 
 too surely for question, and without the need of any authority 
 or text. How unsympathetic she had been, treating every- 
 body as so many pawns she had to move this way or that 
 in answer to the dictates of her conscience, as if it were the 
 only conscience in the world. 
 
278 A CELIBATE'S WIFE 
 
 She could laugh aloud at the absurdity of her attack on the 
 Squire's wife. For the Squire's wife had become suddenly 
 not a conscious sinner, but a human being with complicated 
 ideas of duty like herself, which, for all she knew, were better 
 than her own. If love was right, pretty dresses might be right, 
 pretty dresses which made the world brighter, which might 
 have their place in attracting love. With a sudden impulse 
 which she answered without giving herself time to question 
 whether it was good or bad, she lighted the candles on her 
 dressing-table, and stood before the glass ruffling her hair, 
 which required so much manipulation to keep primly tight over 
 her forehead. Would Gabriel like her better with her red-gold 
 hair in its natural waves and rebellious curls ? Then, in her 
 sudden burst of girlish vanity let loose, she unlocked her 
 drawers and began rummaging for the prettiest things they 
 contained, trifles given as presents by her friends at school, 
 too pretty and frivolous to be worn, too full of the memory of 
 pleasant friendships to be given away. 
 
 When she approached the glass again, to stand with alter- 
 nate smiles and uncertain flushes glancing at her reflection, 
 she wore a green silk handkerchief on her shoulders, bracelets 
 on her wrists, and a dainty lace arrangement pinned down the 
 front of her dress. 
 
 She flushed again, half with happiness, half with doubt, as 
 she told herself that Gabriel would certainly think the effect 
 pleasing. 
 
 But was not all this sin, was it not all wicked vanity ? She 
 shrank a little from the accusation of her past self reviving in 
 her. But the past self was no better than she was. All that 
 divided them was a lost sense of her own importance, a lost 
 desire to be better than other girls, and know that she was 
 better. And her desire to look pleasing was too unselfish for 
 her to regard it as a sin. It was not for her sake, but for the 
 sake of the man who loved her. 
 
 The thought that they loved each other, and that the love 
 was not sinful, but God-given, was quite enough for her at 
 present, and kept her mind from dwelling on any practical 
 issue of her convictions. Its sweetness intoxicated her. She 
 was full of a delicious sense of liberty too, that had come to 
 
A CELIBATE'S WIFE 27^ 
 
 her with the vindication of her guiding inner light. It was 
 no longer a will-o'-the-wisp evolved from the morass of unholy 
 emotions. It was the Divine torch which God had given her 
 to light her in the path He wished her to take. 
 
 It had required the decision of religion enunciated by its 
 minister to make her feel sure of the fact, but once given, it 
 made all need for the Canon's decisions disappear. A belief 
 in his infallibility was no longer necessary, and with the absence 
 of need, the belief to which she had clung so despairingly dis- 
 appeared. She allowed herself to listen to all the arguments 
 against it which had filled her mind before, but which she had 
 rigorously suppressed. She wondered why they had not con- 
 vinced her when they were so conclusive, and did not see that 
 they had convinced her, but that she would not admit herself 
 convinced. She did not know that we can believe we believe 
 anything, as long as that belief seems necessary. It is the 
 secret of all so-called religious faith. Nobody believes a single 
 illogical dogma of any creed. But when the dogma seems to 
 us absolutely necessary to morality or happiness, we must 
 pretend even to ourselves that we believe it. Hence the reason 
 that the usual religious argument is so utterly abortive. The 
 internal evidences of the infallibility of the Bible, the historical 
 proofs of the resurrection of Jesus, have never satisfied a single 
 intellect until that intellect has persuaded itself that proof of 
 these points is absolutely necessary. When they have per- 
 suaded themselves, any proofs will do. The proofs do not 
 support the belief, the belief supports the proofs. 
 
 It was the same in Angela's case. She had felt that a 
 belief in an infallible mind to read the will of God from His 
 word was absolutely necessary, and she could see no offer of 
 one except from the Church to which she belonged, in the 
 person of its official servant. She accepted the Canon as in- 
 fallible for almost three days, therefore, in flat defiance of her 
 reason. Now she could allow herself to listen to reason and 
 admit the illogical absurdity of her belief. If the Canon was 
 infallible, then every clergyman was infallible ; and she knew 
 that they held very different opinions from each other. The 
 Bishop, for instance, believed in clergymen marrying, although 
 the Canon did not. Above all, her judgment told her plainly 
 
28o A CELIBATE'S WIFE 
 
 that her nominal husband was full of faults. How ridiculous 
 it had been for her to try and think that his childish irri- 
 tation over the coldness of his coffee had in it anything 
 akin to the irritation of Christ with the money - changers. 
 And then his enunciations of duty went for nothing, because 
 they had contradicted each other. He had encouraged her 
 to think that there was something sinful in marriage, when 
 he wanted her to assist him in giving an outward pro- 
 tection to his celibacy; and now that she had done so, he 
 stated calmly and as impressively that marriage for her was 
 quite right. 
 
 If it was necessary for a woman to have the aid of a man 
 to assist her feebler judgments — and the thought of Gabriel 
 Lyne and her dependence on him made the idea reasonable to 
 her — then she was sure that the Infidel of Windlehurst would 
 give her more aid than the Rector. 
 
 Was not love a Divine leading, teaching her whom to choose 
 as a guide to her feebler judgments ? The thought had 
 occurred to her before, even when she did not know that she 
 was thinking, and she had put it away from her, saying that 
 Gabriel could only lead her away from Christ. But, in her 
 passionate eagerness to think everything good of the man she 
 loved, she jumped at the title of his book which she had seen, 
 and forced it to throw a new light on his attitude. It was 
 not from Christ and his preaching that he had broken away, 
 but from the perversion of his teaching, which had made so 
 much of the Canon's creed seem irreligious to her. Why had 
 she revolted so much against the Rector's advice and com- 
 mands ? Was it not that they seemed to her to be founded on 
 some idea altogether different from the desire to fulfil Christ's 
 teaching? Against Gabriel's enunciations of duty her con- 
 science had never revolted, except against the submission to 
 the Canon, which he had enjoined from a perfectly false idea 
 of their relationship. 
 
 She sat down at the dressing-table with her Bible and Con- 
 cordance before her, trying to find authority for many things 
 which the Rector had laid down as duties — many of them 
 seemed to her so useless, so devoid of all benefit to himself or 
 others. Even his fasting had always seemed to her unwise 
 
A CELIBATE'S WIFE 281 
 
 when it interfered with his health and usefulness. She had 
 rarely fasted herself, and it seemed to her now that she had 
 been right. Did not God wish her to be healthy? Why 
 had He made food if it was not to be eaten ? A new idea of 
 God was dawning upon her, due more than she guessed to 
 the few suggestive thoughts Gabriel had given her. She tried 
 to think of Him as the Creator of everything, of the pretty 
 handkerchief on her neck, of trades and humble occupations.. 
 She had felt in the past as if every occupation was wrong which 
 engaged the mind to the exclusion of devotional thought. 
 But if so, surely she had no right to eat food, wear clothes, or 
 live in a house, that owed themselves to other people's con- 
 centration on earthly pursuits. Surely she had been wrong to 
 classify every undevotional work together as 'ungodly. Godli- 
 ness or ungodliness must depend upon the way the work was 
 done. She had tried to make her life a fac-simile of the life 
 of Jesus in a wrong manner, taking His acts as her guide 
 rather than looking for the spirit which actuated them, and 
 trying to preserve that spirit in ordinary everyday life. The 
 fact that He had called Peter from his fishing had degraded 
 fishing in her eyes. Now she remembered that He had not 
 called every fisherman from his work. 
 
 All the thoughts that had struggled in her mind since her 
 talks with the Infidel, half dormant, or denied utterance through 
 a preconceived idea of their sinfulness, arranged themselves in 
 order to-night, as she sat luxuriating in anticipations of the 
 new freer life which they promised her. The ascetic Chris- 
 tianity, with its contempt for every human employment except 
 preaching, its distrust of every human emotion, which had 
 formed her whole conception of religion, sank more and more 
 into insignificance as she thought, and, with it, her respect for 
 Canon Presyllett and for the tie which bound them together. 
 She sat up long into the night, with no thought of undressing, 
 and as her thoughts turned more from the God of the Bible 
 to the God who had made everything, from tradition to reason, 
 she blew out the candles, and opening her window, sat there 
 looking up at the clear night sky, her thoughts only quickened 
 by the keenness of the air. 
 
 She could hear the Canon's footsteps as he passed on his 
 
282 A CELIBATE'S WIFE 
 
 way to his room, and little thought, poor innocent child, of 
 the fierce unholy battle that was raging in him. 
 
 After he had passed she closed the window and paced the 
 room, still thinking. Her mind went back to the fancy picture 
 which she had drawn of Gabriel Lyne's attitude to Christ. 
 Although she did not know it, she was struggling to reconcile 
 to each other two ideals. 
 
 Mrs. Gateacre had been right when she said that a woman 
 never becomes enthusiastic over an idea unless it has a person 
 at the back of it. It was the thought of Gabriel which made 
 Angela enthusiastic over the new ideas which had come to 
 broaden her creed. She was possessed by the delicious thought 
 that each new broader idea brought her nearer to him, and 
 made her thoughts more like his. More or less consciously, 
 she was fighting her way to a mental position in which it 
 would be possible for her to admit, without remonstrance from 
 conscience or creed, her preference of Gabriel Lyne to Canon 
 Presyllett ; in which it would be possible for her to accept 
 the Infidel as spiritual guide. Her passion to justify Gabriel 
 mastered every prejudice. Her respect for him was greater 
 than her respect for any body of thinkers or any set of ideas. 
 Her old creed she identified in her mind with a man whom 
 she knew that she despised and disliked, the man who was 
 nominally her husband ; and her contempt for the Christian 
 clergyman made her ready to condemn his Church and the 
 whole attitude of thought which he officially represented. Her 
 faith, as we have seen, had been a record of personal influences, 
 and love made her cleave to the Infidel more than to any 
 person she had loved in the past. Cecile's morbidness appeared 
 to her in its true light, and her friend's regretted renunciation 
 of the world became only the final outcome of an entirely false 
 view of God and His will. Even her dead mother became 
 human and fallible, the sweet, pure expression of ideas which 
 she had received from others less holy than herself, and which 
 only her own beautiful nature made as admirable as they were. 
 Angela did not shrink from the conception, because it served 
 rather to increase than lessen her love for the sweet, calm woman 
 whose memory she cherished. More human and fallible, her 
 mother became only more lovable as she thought of her. 
 
A CELIBATE'S WIFE 283 
 
 But suddenly she found herself face to face with her Christ, 
 the imagined ideal man, who had made personal her old creed, 
 and given it all the power it exercised over her, Christ who 
 had absorbed all her love and enthusiasm, Christ whose bride 
 she had called herself when she renounced the idea of any 
 earthly marriage. 
 
 She stopped suddenly, chilled and shocked by the thought, 
 which had come to her so unexpectedly that it seemed to be 
 a supernatural reproof from Heaven that she was loving a 
 human being better than her Lord. She made an ineffectual 
 struggle to reassure herself by the thought that Gabriel really 
 worshipped her Saviour. What right had she to think so 
 when the Infidel had refused to bear the name which pro- 
 claimed him a believer in her Master ? 
 
 The imagined face, which Angela by the least effort could 
 realise almost as plainly as that of Gabriel himself, seemed to 
 look down upon her with grave, sad remonstrance, asking 
 whether she too was denying Him, and making His death 
 and suffering for her of no effect. 
 
 In an agony of remorse the girl threw herself on her knees, 
 assuring Him of her faith, of her love, of the complete subjec- 
 tion of her will to His. If He demanded it, she would never 
 see the Infidel again, or listen to the persuasive arguments, 
 which might lessen to her mind the importance of her 
 Saviour's sacrifice. The submission was very hard, and cost 
 many tears ; but Angela's devotion to the Dream-Man was so 
 great, that it would have enabled her to conquer for Him 
 every human impulse, even her love, if she could have been 
 absolutely sure that He required it. 
 
 But how was she to be sure that her Saviour demanded the 
 sacrifice ? The godliness of human love, proclaimed by Canon 
 and conscience alike, had wiped away the old ascetic idea that 
 whatever was unpleasant was godly. And she had submitted 
 in the past to the supposed will of Christ, only to discover 
 that her supposition was wrong, that she was submitting to a 
 false idea of duty altogether. Might it not be the case now ? 
 She knew that her character had gained in Christ-likeness 
 through her friendship for Gabriel, and she had still the 
 delightful hope that her influence might be the means of 
 
284 A CELIBATE'S WIFE 
 
 bringing him nearer to her Lord. But was he really farther 
 from Christ than herself, if his actions were more Christ-like 
 than hers, as it seemed to her ? 
 
 She thought of the sympathetic consideration he had shown 
 for the distressed steer and the man who had lost it, when 
 she had had no thought but for her personal safety. He had 
 acted as she could have imagined her Master acting. 
 
 In a way, indeed, her devotion to the idealised Christ had 
 paved the way for her devotion to the Infidel. In him she 
 had seen her ideal acting without effort from her imagination, 
 with the added charm of unexpectedness ; and she struggled 
 still to reconcile the two ideals — to see God through a man, as 
 the Canon had told her, with the authority of a text, that a 
 woman ought to do. 
 
 The passion to justify Gabriel overpowered her, and she let 
 her mind wander back to those ideas of Christ's salvation 
 which had oifended her sense of justice. But she no longer 
 tried to belittle her sense of justice. Might the idea that 
 Gabriel was to be tortured everlastingly simply for the want 
 of a mental admission which he was too honest to make, be 
 a wrong idea altogether, distorted from the real words of Jesus 
 by men like Canon Presyllett ? 
 
 Fired by the thought, she lighted the candles once more, to 
 refer to her Testament ; and she was poring over it laboriously, 
 trying hard to read it without any preconceived ideas of its 
 meaning, when a sound on the floor above her made her start. 
 
 It was the Canon coming downstairs, and, afraid that the 
 light in her room at that hour might attract his attention and 
 bring a disturbance to her thoughts, Angela blew out the 
 candles hastily. She remained silent, wondering, when his 
 steps stopped at her door, whether her midnight pacing had 
 attracted his attention. She breathed more freely when he 
 had passed downwards to the study, and struck a match 
 as silently as possible to ascertain the time from her watch. 
 It was almost four o'clock. How quickly the hours had 
 passed. 
 
 She wondered why the Canon was stirring, and resented 
 the fact, since it threatened the complete isolation. Every 
 moment she expected to hear him returning, to knock at her 
 
A CELIBATE'S WIFE 285 
 
 door and tell her that she ought to be asleep — as if it were 
 possible for her to sleep to-night. 
 
 The mere thought of the Canon assuming the least control 
 of her actions drew her thoughts abruptly into a practical 
 channel. What was she going to do as the outcome of all her 
 new convictions ? 
 
 To an ordinary girl, brought up, as most girls are, to con- 
 sider religion and respectability, Christianity and the con- 
 ventional rules of conduct, as practically synonymous terms, 
 the position would have seemed a much more serious one 
 than to Angela, who owned no duty that could not be traced 
 clearly to the direction of her God. 
 
 The ordinary girl would have said : " I have married Canon 
 Presyllett. I did so under a wrong idea of duty, but that 
 cannot help me. The church service has made me his wife, 
 and his wife I must remain." 
 
 But Angela had never admitted for a moment that the 
 church service had made her the Rector's wife. She kept 
 clear before her always his agreement that in the sight of God 
 they should remain unmarried. Her vows in church had been 
 simply vows of perpetual virginity, and the vow became a 
 worthless thing as soon as she saw that perpetual virginity 
 was not required of her. She was in the position of a nun, 
 who, having renounced the world at the supposed bidding of 
 God, realises clearly that the renunciation is contrary to His 
 will. The fact that her passion was still dormant, requiring 
 only a protestation of love, a single caress from the man she 
 loved, to kindle it into full fire, yet still a possibility rather 
 than a reality for want of that one word and kiss, helped her 
 to look at her position still calmly as a matter of conscience, 
 with little thought of the strength of the conventional chain 
 with which she had shackled herself It seemed enough to 
 her if she could, without offending her Lord, share the 
 Infidel's sympathy and confidence, enjoy his leadership in 
 all practical questions of duty, in that attitude which the 
 Canon had declared from Scripture to be the proper attitude 
 of woman towards her husband. Beyond this her thoughts 
 had as yet scarcely strayed. To receive his caresses, to be 
 always quite near to him, to perform menial duties for his 
 
286 A CELIBATE'S WIFE 
 
 comfort, to have children which were his as well as hers — all 
 these hopes were sweet and beautiful to her, but they were 
 very vague ones, kept in the background by her maidenly shy- 
 ness, by the uncertainty which remained in her mind yet as 
 to whether he really loved her. They could be done without, 
 she told herself, if she could but have Gabriel as her earthly 
 representative of God. All her thoughts started from the one 
 certain fact that she loved him, not that he loved her, although 
 she felt with trembling happiness that he did. The Squire's 
 confidence had opened her eyes, and half explained to her 
 the reason of that brusqueness he had shown her, the reason 
 of the subtle difference she remembered now noticing in his 
 manner before and after her marriage. 
 
 She had only to tell him, she assured herself, that her 
 marriage with the Canon was not a real one, to make him 
 help her in all her difficulties. Farther her mind did not 
 carry her, except in the way of vague happy dreams which she 
 hesitated to touch with the cold finger of practical dissection. 
 
 While she was thinking it out, she was startled to hear foot- 
 steps approaching the porch under her window, and, with a 
 mad love-borne thought that they might be Gabriel's, she 
 opened the door of her room very gently and silently. 
 
 The voice that sounded below, when the hall-door was 
 opened by the Canon, was not the one she was hoping and 
 thirsting for ; she knew Gabriel's too well to remain in doubt 
 for a moment, although she could not hear what was said till 
 the Canon's voice sounded more plainly as he turned to the 
 stairs. 
 
 " I will dress and come with you at once," he said ; and 
 Angela closed her door again softly. The Canon was not 
 dressed, then ; and the thought that the least accident might 
 have made her meet him shocked her acute girlish sensitive- 
 ness, and made her realise, as she had not done before, the 
 strangeness and unpleasantness of her position. It seemed to 
 her for the first time that there was something rather shock- 
 ing in it. Strange thoughts ran riot through her head, and 
 frightened her. 
 
 She could not stay another day or night in the house alone 
 with this man, who was not her husband. She wondered even 
 
A CELIBATE'S WIFE 287 
 
 whether she ought not to leave it at once, and only the 
 fact that Canon Presyllett had been called away somewhere, 
 reconciled her to the thought of remaining. She did not 
 want to frighten her aunts by rousing them in the early 
 hours. 
 
 After his steps and the closing of the hall-door had told 
 her that he was gone, she sat down to think how her departure 
 would affect him. 
 
 The Canon would be very angry. He would say that she 
 had broken faith with him. The latter thought chUled her^ 
 She had never wilfully broken a promise in her life, and the 
 new question of conscience arose — how far was she bound by 
 a vow when she discovered it to have been a fooUsh one ? 
 
 The question was very disturbing. Her nominal marriage 
 had become horrible to her, and still she had vowed solemnly 
 to live under the same roof as the Rector and to share his 
 name. If she broke her vow, she would not only incon- 
 venience her nominal husband ; she would make him feel dis- 
 graced in the eyes of all who knew him. He had told her as 
 much when he tried to reconcile her to those outward signs 
 of affection which he thought necessary to preserve the appear- 
 ance of their marriage in the eyes of the world. 
 
 Angela had passed beyond that stage of thought when any 
 emotion in another which did not appeal to her conscience 
 could be thrust underfoot ruthlessly, the stage of thought 
 which had allowed her to attack Mrs. Gateacre's finery. The 
 awakening of her humanity with the awakening of love, had 
 filled her with a new consideration for others, and the thought 
 of the bitter blow she contemplated dealing at the Canon's 
 pride shocked her. 
 
 The deceit of their marriage might be wrong, but she had 
 allowed him to enter into it through faith in her intention to 
 maintain it to the end. Was she not bound to maintain it, 
 whatever the cost to herself, until he released her from her 
 promise ? 
 
 The question was such a new one, concerning her duty to 
 man rather than her direct duty to God, that it did not occur 
 to her to look to her Christ for an answer. She found herself 
 wondering only what Gabriel would decide to be her duty. 
 
288 A CELIBATE'S WIFE 
 
 His idea of duty seemed to her to have suggested the scruple to 
 her mind, and she felt a dull hopeless certainty that he would 
 tell her, if she asked him, that she must keep her promise. 
 
 A passionate longing came over her to put the question to 
 him verbally, to tell him everything, and let his clear just 
 mind direct her actions. She found herself wondering how 
 early he rose, and whether his old housekeeper was in the 
 cottage to satisfy those scruples of propriety, if she called, 
 which the Infidel considered, but which she knew now that he 
 considered chiefly for her own sake. 
 
 Then suddenly there flashed into her memory the idea of 
 his books, which she had seen lying on the table in the study. 
 What a storehouse of ideas for her. She wondered that she 
 had not thought of them before. Surely they would help her 
 to know what Gabriel Lyne's idea of duty was, so that she 
 could be sure of his opinion about her promise. 
 
 She lighted a candle quickly, flushed with the thought, and 
 hurried down the creaking staircase of the dark silent house, 
 too full of her purpose to think of its eerie loneliness, the 
 loneliness which had brought terror into the Canon's con- 
 science-stricken heart. 
 
 The books were not on the table where Angela had seen 
 them, and she glanced round the room hungrily and full of 
 disappointment. 
 
 Finding no trace of them, she crossed to the dining-room. 
 If they were not there, the Canon must have either taken 
 them to his bedroom or hidden them somewhere, for fear of 
 her seeing them. 
 
 The girl's pride revolted at the thought. Her vow had 
 given the man no right to treat her as a child, and when a 
 survey of dining and bed room assured her that he had done 
 so, she did not hesitate to take out her bundle of keys and 
 try each in turn in the cupboard lock. If the Canon had 
 been present she would have demanded the return of her 
 books, which she had only given into his charge tentatively. 
 As he was not, she would not allow herself to be balked by 
 the unfair impediment which he had placed in the way of her 
 using her own judgment. If none of her keys had fitted, she 
 would in her heat have probably tried to break the door open ; 
 
A CELIBATE'S WIFE 289 
 
 but, luckily for the preservation of the Canon's mediaeval 
 furniture, success came with the third key, and the books lay 
 revealed before her, piled on an empty shelf beneath the array 
 of drugs and patent medicines with which the Canon indus- 
 triously struggled to delay his entrance into a life of bliss. 
 
 Re-locking the cupboard, she went back to her room with 
 her prize, and began dipping into the books at random. But 
 every sentence on which her eyes fell seemed very deep and 
 difficult, and very soon the print grew misty before her. 
 Drowsiness had suddenly overcome her after her long vigil, 
 and she closed the books reluctantly. 
 
 " To-morrow I must read them, and they will tell me what 
 to do," she said to herself; and she cried a Httle as she thought 
 how likely it was that they would point out as her duty the 
 course which seemed so impossible, so unbearable to her. 
 
 But she had grown suddenly too sleepy even to think of it 
 any more, and she only stopped to remove her outer dress 
 and corset before lying down, to fall asleep in the middle of 
 the childish prayer she repeated always as her head touched 
 the pillow. 
 
 The room was still dark when she woke suddenly, to 
 feel rather than see the gaunt figure of the Canon bending 
 over her, while his bony hand touched her uncovered breast 
 caressingly. 
 
CHAPTER XXXI 
 
 Gabriel had been working very hard, rising early to start 
 writing immediately after his morning, swim and breakfast, and 
 continuing late at his desk. He sat up later than ever on 
 the eventful night of Canon Presyllett's moral struggle and 
 Angela's liberation from her asceticism, for before him he 
 could plainly see the word " Finis " parted from him only by 
 a few hours of enthusiastic toil. The welcome word cheered 
 him on and kept fatigue at bay. A few more pages and the 
 work would be complete ; there would be no touch needed that 
 could not be given by another hand. He could read through 
 and revise the last chapter in the morning, ready to deliver to 
 his publisher a day in advance of the promised date, in time 
 to take afternoon tea with the Squire and his wife, and leave 
 for town in the evening to make some preparation for his 
 journey. A literary friend whom he could trust had promised 
 to revise the proofs for him while he was away ; and all the 
 work that he alone could do, that the lack of his guiding mind 
 would leave for ever unfinished, would be accomplished when 
 he wrote the last word. 
 
 He rushed on towards it as if some presentiment of his 
 approaching self-sought fate had told him that it was the last 
 night on which he would ever write. 
 
 He wrote on enthusiastically till the last word was done, 
 and he laid down his pen with a sigh of relief as the clock 
 over the fire struck two. 
 
 " Thank goodness ! " he said, as he wiped his pen and leaned 
 back. 
 
 It was more than the ending of a book. It was the com- 
 pletion of his message to his fellow-men. In the different 
 books he had written he had enunciated his creed, and explained 
 
 ago 
 
A CELIBATE'S WIFE 291 
 
 away carefully and laboriously every error which seemed to 
 him to stand in the way of its acceptance. As far as he could 
 see at present, nothing remained unsaid. The man who read 
 and understood his books could say all the rest for himself. 
 The leading thoughts, which he had^ thought out for himself, 
 and which were different from what anybody had ever said 
 before, were all in black and white, and with the completion 
 of this task he could go back to his novel-writing and news- 
 paper work. 
 
 The worst of setting oneself a definite goal like this is the 
 sudden want of aim which comes when the goal is reached. 
 One moment he had been hastening forward enthusiastically, 
 the next his enthusiasm was left objectless. 
 
 He took up the sheets almost involuntarily to revise the 
 last that he had written, but put them down again when he 
 remembered that he was encroaching on the task he had 
 left himself to fill up the last day that he must remain at 
 Windlehurst. 
 
 The thought of idleness still frightened him, for he had 
 found it hard enough work, with all his enthusiasm for his 
 book, to keep himself from trying to get another glimpse of 
 Angela, and on the last day of his stay in the village the 
 desire would be greater, he knew, than it had ever been. 
 How could he go away without seeing her ; and yet what good 
 could it possibly do ? What purpose would it serve, except to 
 increase the passion which already was well-nigh strong enough 
 to master every healthy honest impulse in him ? 
 
 No, he must not see her. If he meant to play the part of 
 a man false to his kind, he would do it with his eyes open, he 
 would not drift into it. Was he going to steal the Rector's 
 wife, if he could ; or was he going to accept the fact that she 
 belonged to another man, and act as honestly as he had always 
 tried to do ? 
 
 Put straightforwardly, there was only one answer possible 
 to him, and he did not dilly-dally with temptation. He put 
 the thought of a last sight, a last interview, away resolutely. 
 
 But the short struggle had only increased the mental excite- 
 ment which had enabled him to finish his book and defy 
 fatigue. He could not lie down yet, and turning down the 
 
292 A CELIBATE'S WIFE 
 
 lamp, he put on hat and Inverness, and locking the cottage 
 door behind him, started on a long walk to calm his mind. 
 
 With the need of some goal before him, he turned at the 
 end of the lane towards Barnwood, thinking that he would see 
 what progress had been made with the model dwelling he was 
 building. Possibly the thought that it would make him pass 
 the vicarage unconsciously affected his decision ; but when he 
 went by the wooden gate, he did not turn his head to glance 
 across the dark garden towards the house. The mad impulse 
 to stop there warned him not to do so. Had he glanced he 
 might have seen the light of Angela's candle gleaming faintly 
 behind the gaunt arms of the ascetic yew-tree on the lawn, as 
 she bent over her Testament trying to find justification there 
 for his creed. 
 
 Poor Gabriel could not guess that; and the fact of the 
 girl's love, although it would have made his struggle a thou- 
 sand times harder, would not have shaken his conviction about 
 marriage. 
 
 He walked along the silent road with long swinging steps, 
 trying to keep his mind fixed on his plans, on thoughts of 
 what he would do in America. 
 
 Already he had made many friends there by his books — 
 friends whom he had never seen, but whose grateful letters 
 encouraged him in the work he had set himself, and promised 
 him a warm personal welcome when he crossed the ocean 
 that his thoughts had passed before him. 
 
 His visit was the best possible means he could take of 
 distracting his thoughts from the woman who filled them now 
 too completely. He could make a lecturing tour, too, to see 
 the whole place. 
 
 Perhaps he would meet some woman like Mrs. Presyllett 
 whom he could love, he tried to tell himself reassuringly, but 
 it was almost an open attempt to deceive himself. 
 
 He felt almost ready to believe that humanity has been 
 mapped out into couples; that for every man there is one 
 woman only who is exactly the right woman for him, and with 
 whom alone he can be perfectly happy. 
 
 He tried to laugh at himself for the thought, which depended 
 upon a more grandmotherly direction of the universe than 
 
A CELIBATE'S WIFE 293 
 
 accorded with his ideas of the Creator's government. What a 
 miserable idea it would be, for the single selection of a wrong 
 partner would lead to an indefinite line of wrong selections. 
 If Angela were meant for him, the Canon had secured her, 
 thus leaving some woman whom Presyllett ought to have 
 married to be selected by a wrong man, who in turn would 
 rob another woman, and so on indefinitely. 
 
 No, it was not worth a moment's thought ; and still, was it 
 possible that there could be another woman in the world who 
 would attract him as this devout, beautiful girl, with beliefs 
 utterly opposed to his own, had done ? He could not imagine 
 the possibility. 
 
 He tried to force himself to do so. The idea that another 
 man's wife was the only person in the world who could make 
 him happy was surely a delusion of egotism. 
 
 His mind was full of memories as he walked. The gate 
 where he had come to her help against the harmless steer 
 had recalled her vividly, then the house as he passed it had 
 awakened fresh memories, then there was the spot where he 
 had met the Squire and rejected his suggestion. Could he 
 have rejected it now, he wondered. Even the model dwelling, 
 when he reached it, black and cheerless with its gaunt scaffold- 
 poles, interested him only because he had talked about it 
 to Angela. His mind went back to their meeting in the 
 slum. He had been in love with her even then. What 
 was it that made him feel such a sudden and complete 
 sympathy ? 
 
 He drew himself up quickly. 
 
 " What a fool I am to let my mind dwell on what I cannot 
 have." 
 
 Impatient with himself, he set himself to think out the plot 
 of a novel to write, and made a compromise between heart and 
 resolve by imagining one which began to weave itself round 
 himself and the woman he loved. He found himself going 
 to America, and marrying a girl there because she was very 
 much like Angela. Then he returned to England, to find that 
 the Canon was dead and Angela free. 
 
 It was a good start. How would it finish ? 
 
 He busied his mind thinking out possible endings as 
 
294 A CELIBATE'S WIFE 
 
 he walked more slowly back to the village, until a redden- 
 ing of the dark horizon over Windlehurst put an end to his 
 thoughts. 
 
 His first idea was that the Rectory was on fire, and he 
 started into a run ; but it was not long before that panic dis- 
 appeared and he was able to locate the fire as being some- 
 where in the village street. 
 
 He slackened speed on ascertaining the fact, and it came 
 quite as a new thought to him that wherever the fire was, he 
 must see whether his help was needed. He broke into a run 
 again, but it was a steadier one than before. 
 
 Just past the Rectory a man clattering by on a galloping 
 horse shouted the news to him excitedly : the cobbler's cottage 
 was on fire, and the flames were spreading to the neighbouring 
 ones ; he was off to Barnwood for the engines. 
 
 Gabriel was glad of something to do, and he was running 
 harder than ever before the man had shouted his last word. 
 The thought of fellow- creatures in danger nerved all his 
 energies and took away the very thought of fatigue, as he 
 ran like an athlete in the direction of the baleful glow, which 
 became every moment more lurid. 
 
 In the village street some men were making vain attempts 
 to get loose a ladder chained by a single rung to the wall 
 outside the carpenter's house. The carpenter was lolling out 
 of the window above in his night-shirt swearing at them, and 
 too drunk to understand what they wanted or to tell where the 
 key was kept by which the ladder could be unloosed. The 
 men were quite disorganised, too full of anxiety for the instru- 
 ment of life to agree on any definite plan for getting it. They 
 were arguing with the sot at the window when Gabriel reached 
 them, and he took in the position at a glance, slipped out his 
 pocket-knife, and slashing away with deft force at the chained 
 rung, managed to break it through with his foot. He took 
 one end of the freed ladder on his shoulder to hurry it round 
 an abrupt turn to the scene of the fire, pushing his way through 
 the crowd of distraught villagers clustering helplessly round 
 the ruin of their homes. 
 
 The cobbler's cottage, where the fire had started, was one of 
 a long low row of thatched ones with or .• tall house at the 
 
A CELIBATE'S WIFE 495 
 
 end, which the flames had reached, having half burnt out the 
 three intervening ones. The thatch of the one on the other 
 side of the starting-place was on fire too, burning more slowly 
 against the wind. From the untouched houses the inmates, 
 half clothed, were bundling out furniture with wild haste. 
 
 Gabriel's quick eye saw everything instantly — saw, too, that 
 the fire was licking its way up the one tall house higher and 
 higher to where some children and a woman were huddled 
 at the topmost window screaming for help. Those of the 
 bystanders who had come from the adjoining houses out of 
 danger, or who had lost all chance of saving their own 
 property, were staring up at them stupidly and helplessly. 
 They raised a feeble cheer as the ladder appeared, and made 
 way for it to be placed against the wall. 
 
 As Gabriel was about to mount it, an old woman rushed 
 up to him, frantically pulling at his coat, and begging him 
 to get her Bible on the lower floor, which was all aflame. 
 It was the Bible that her mother and her grandmother had 
 read before her, and all the comforting texts were marked. She 
 ran out a long excited rigmarole of its virtues. 
 
 Gabriel pushed her aside, very roughly for him. 
 
 " We will think about your paper, woman, when the lives 
 and homes are saved," he said from the ladder. 
 
 In a few minutes the frightened group was safe on ground, 
 and Gabriel with his clear authoritative voice was trying to 
 restore order to the frantic helpless mob, arranging a cordon 
 of men from the well to the house which had barely begun 
 to burn, and from which the inmates were bundling their 
 chattels like the rest, with no thought of stopping the flames. 
 It was he who mounted on the burning thatch like a demon 
 among the smoke, throwing bucket after bucket on the thatch 
 as it came to him. 
 
 He was brought down by a new terrified rumour running 
 through the crowd. Somebody had been left in the tall 
 house; an old bedridden woman living alone in the back 
 room had been forgotten in the general confusion and panic. 
 He handed his bucket to the man nearest to him, inspiring 
 him with a little of his own courage as he asked him to take 
 his place, and in a moment was at the foot of the ladder 
 
296 A CELIBATE'S WIFE 
 
 again, raised against the window from which the woman had 
 been rescued. 
 
 The window was still clear, but from the storey below swept 
 out red tongues, licking the ladder ravenously. The ascent had 
 become a gravely hazardous one, and for a moment Gabriel 
 paused, asking himself whether he had any right to risk his 
 life for that of an old bedridden woman. In his distrust of 
 unthought emotion, he questioned even the lust of life-saving 
 that was strong upon him. 
 
 Only an old bedridden woman ! But there is no measure 
 by which we can gauge the value of life to a single human 
 being. Young people, who seem to have everything for happi- 
 ness, throw it away carelessly ; the old and apparently miserable 
 cling to it tenaciously. He could imagine anybody caring for 
 life more than he cared for it now, with the woman he loved 
 denied him, with the aimlessness which had come to him as 
 he realised that his particular individual work for his fellows 
 was done. But, above everything, there was the chance on his 
 side that both lives would be saved, the certainty on the other 
 that if he hesitated a fellow-creature might be killed horribly. 
 He could see the old lady's terror and despair vividly. What- 
 ever there was good in him was due to this power he had of 
 realising the feelings of others, of putting himself in their place; 
 and at the thought of the bedridden woman's despair when 
 she felt herself abandoned, when she lay on her bed awaiting 
 the death that seemed to her inevitable, he could hesitate 
 no longer. The quick passage of thought had not taken a 
 moment, had not shown a sign of hesitation to the crowd, 
 which was beginning to look upon him as a different creature 
 from themselves, somebody to whom life and death did not 
 matter. 
 
 Behind the huddled barricade of table and chairs which had 
 been rescued from the flames, an anxious group was gathered 
 round the terrible figure of the infidel cobbler where he had 
 been laid on a mattress close to the dead bodies of three 
 children suffocated in the attic of the same house, his face 
 white and livid under the grime of smoke, his limbs writhing 
 in torture, but his mind perfectly, terribly conscious. He was 
 alternately cursing God for his pains, and begging those 
 
A CELIBATE'S WIFE 297 
 
 around him to run for the Rector to give him an official pass- 
 port against hell fire. The lurid light of the fire falling on 
 him as he lay and writhed, cursing and pleading, made him 
 look to those around like a soul already in hell, and they were 
 whispering to each other that an infidel always dies a coward, 
 that it is a terrible thing not to be on the safe side. 
 
 How many firm resolves were made that night, vows to go 
 to church regularly, and to do with a cold dinner on Sunday, 
 to treat the Rector with more respect, and to keep a Bible 
 in the house to read on Sundays beside the ornamental 
 family one. 
 
 Resolves to be kept in some cases as long as three months, 
 but in most to be forgotten as soon as the flames were gone, 
 and the cobbler, pronounced out of danger, began boasting of 
 his superiority to superstition again. 
 
 " Ah ! yes, an infidel is always a coward when it comes to a 
 matter of death," was echoed everywhere through the crowd, 
 even among those who stood watching with wonder, and 
 almost worship in their hearts, the calm-faced man climbing 
 higher and higher on the slender ladder which was already 
 beginning to burn. His courage made him no longer an 
 infidel to them. The flames spit out at him as he passed, 
 and when he reached a clearer space above the volumes of 
 smoke that had almost choked him, they could see below that 
 his coat was smouldering and burning a little at the edge. 
 Somebody tried to cheer as he entered the window, but the 
 tension was too great for the single voice to be joined by 
 another. 
 
 Then there were terrible minutes of waiting, made more 
 terrible by a whisper going round that the house was shaking, 
 that the ladder was actually on fire in the middle. One man 
 less distraught than the rest was trying to draw it away from 
 the house until it was needed, and shouted with a curse to the 
 rest to come and help. 
 
 He was dragged away unanswered as the front wall began 
 to rock, giving him barely time to escape before wall and 
 ladder fell forward with a great crash together. 
 
 There was a cry of horror for the brave man inside who 
 had risked his life and must surely have lost it. 
 
298 A CELIBATE'S WIFE 
 
 The next moment the place was gleaming with brass helmets. 
 The engine from Barnwood had come at last. 
 
 The tall house was a mass of debris now, not half its former 
 height; and in a moment, as the news of Gabriel's attempt 
 spread, the helmets seemed all over it, bending down and 
 peering among the smoke for some sign of the hero. 
 
 A thrill of excitement ran through the crowd when it was 
 seen that he had been found, and the next moment half-a- 
 dozen firemen were drawing him out of the ruins, black with 
 smoke, his clothes smouldering, his hair and eyebrows singed, 
 unconscious, but with the body of the old woman in his 
 arms — dead. 
 
 They thought that Gabriel was dead too, until Dr. Cairn, 
 who lived at the far end of the village, hard by Lilac Lodge, 
 came on the scene, and pronounced him much less injured 
 than seemed possible considering his fall with the house. Not 
 a limb was broken, although one arm was badly burnt. It 
 was the shock of the burns and of the fall which had rendered 
 him unconscious. 
 
 The doctor was one of the many people who were being 
 attracted to the scene by the glare and the sounds of excite- 
 ment. A farmer from the next village had driven over in hot 
 haste in his waggonette with a couple of pails of water in it, 
 half emptied by the jogging of the cart at breakneck speed 
 over the rough country road. 
 
 They lifted Gabriel, unconscious still, into the waggonette, 
 to drive him home with the doctor. 
 
 It was just as they were lifting him in that the Rector of 
 Windlehurst appeared on the scene, to speak words of con- 
 solation to the cobbler; and as his eyes fell on the shapely 
 figure Hmp and helpless, and the keen handsome face dulled 
 by unconsciousness and marred by grime, he experienced a 
 certain amount of pleased relief, which he transformed into a 
 religious emotion by quoting the verse of a psalm to himself, 
 and thanking his God that there was a day of retribution and 
 downfall for the most boastful and self-sufficient. 
 
CHAPTER XXXII 
 
 The clock in the church tower was chiming the hour of six 
 when Canon Presyllett passed on his way home from the 
 smoking heap of ruins which showed where the fire had been. 
 He had been very active, ministering to the spiritual and 
 temporal needs of his afflicted flock, satisfying the cobbler, 
 encouraging the penitent, consoling the bereaved, and exhort- 
 ing the callous, beside making arrangements for the temporary 
 shelter of those who had lost their homes. He had thrown 
 open the school-house for them, while the Squire, who had 
 come down just as the fire was definitely conquered, was 
 ordering from the village store quite a lavish supply of pro- 
 visions for their breakfast. 
 
 Both men were in their element, the good-natured Squire 
 rejoicing in having something to do for his people, which did 
 not leave him bothering over the question whether it was 
 really wise or not, the Rector enjoying a more than usual 
 sense of his spiritual authority when he found it everywhere 
 recognised. Only the praise which he heard on every side 
 lavished on Gabriel Lyne served to disturb his complete 
 complacency, and the fact that the Infidel was supposed 
 to be at death's door helped him to bear even that trial with 
 fortitude. 
 
 The exhortation which he found himself called upon to 
 address to others, emphasising the suddenness of death, the 
 horror of being called to the last account with sin uncon- 
 fessed and unforgiven, reacted upon himself. He had hurried 
 down to the fire with a strange warring of emotions in him — 
 the Angel congratulating him on the answer which his Master 
 had given to his prayer for aid against temptation at the 
 
 moment and in the manner least expected, the Beast still 
 
 299 
 
300 A CELIBATE'S WIFE 
 
 growling at the loss of his prey, and rebelling against the 
 loss of the one perfect opportunity. 
 
 But, in the excitement and exaltation of spiritual ardour, 
 no part of the good man's mind was left free for the Beast 
 to fill with sensual imaginings, and the Angel ruled supreme. 
 
 As he passed the church on his way home, the Rector 
 began to congratulate himself on the fact. The nearness of 
 the Rectory brought back vividly to his memory the chaotic 
 war of emotions in him which had broken down his sense of 
 holiness, taken from him the very power of thinking godly 
 thoughts, and degraded him for a moment into the position of 
 the weakest passion-tossed sinner that he had been exhorting. 
 
 How tremendous the diiference which separated him from 
 the self of two hours before! What possible gratification 
 of the senses could balance that calm sense of hoUness and 
 superiority to worldly passions which possessed him now ? How 
 could he have ever thought of choosing between the two? 
 How faithful God was to His promise — the promise to give 
 aid to such as called upon Him in time of need ! 
 
 The dramatic interruption of the fire in the village at the 
 moment of his greatest weakness was for the Canon a miracle 
 provided by God on his behalf. The sudden recollection 
 that his miracle had cost at least four lives made him stop, 
 suddenly stabbed by a suspicion that hurt his complacency. 
 His heart stood still, and a feeling of sickness overcame him 
 as the unpleasant thought suggested itself. Were these four 
 lives an atonement required by God for his own indecision, 
 a price demanded for the Divine intervention, intended to 
 bring home to him the wickedness of that moment when he 
 had deHberately made up his mind to sin ? 
 
 His rebellion against the idea which would have left him 
 with four lives on his conscience was so great that it con- 
 quered even his habitual self-centredness. He began to think 
 of the other soul that had been affected by the fire, the 
 cobbler's, possibly Lyne's — for the Canon honestly thought 
 that Gabriel was securing his freedom from any idea of Divine 
 control by an effort of wilful rebellion which would weaken as 
 death brought him nearer to its penal result. 
 
 At the remembrance of the cobbler the Canon's momentary 
 
A CELIBATE'S WIFE 301 
 
 sickness and horror disappeared. If the deaths were an atone- 
 ment for sin, required as the price of a soul-saving intervention, 
 surely the responsibility rested upon the converted Infidel, who 
 had a lifetime of sin to atone for, not a moment of readiness 
 for sin. 
 
 After all, the Canon told himself, he had not sinned. He 
 had simply abandoned all human effort and thrown himself 
 entirely upon the help of his God, and his action had been 
 justified by the result. God had helped him by a miracle. 
 Was not his attitude the supreme attitude of faith which God 
 Himself enjoined, a complete surrender of human effort, a 
 complete dependence upon his Maker ? 
 
 The thought gave him a delicious sense of non-responsibility, 
 of comforting strength. He need fear no temptation, however 
 strong ; he need not struggle. As long as he could pray he 
 was safe from falling. 
 
 The Beast jumped at the permission thus given him to 
 exert his full strength without danger of ill consequence. The 
 complete loneliness of the house, as the good man let himself 
 in, inflamed it to full fury. 
 
 Without a moment's warning which he could see, although 
 every single thought which had entered his mind since passing 
 the church ought to have been warning to him — except the 
 involuntary suspicion of earthly atonement so quickly dis- 
 missed — the Canon found himself, as he closed the hall-door 
 behind him and stood in the still dark hall, trembling with an 
 overpowering passion. 
 
 He glanced into the dining-room, and then made his way to 
 the kitchen. No fire had been lighted, there was no sign that 
 his wife had risen. 
 
 Had the miracle failed him, and allowed him to return with 
 the temptation of the night still in full force ? 
 
 If so, surely it was God who was responsible if he fell, and 
 not himself. He had prayed earnestly for help, and the Sender 
 of help must be blamed if it was insufficient. 
 
 A horror was upon him of another moral struggle like that 
 of the night, which had left his soul strangled and dumb; 
 and its uselessness made him keep away all thought of moral 
 effort. 
 
302 A CELIBATE'S WIFE 
 
 He would eave everything in the hands of God, and he 
 strode upstairs trying to repress all thought of his own, to see 
 if his wife were still asleep. 
 
 Without knocking, he opened the door gently, and glanced 
 across with his heart in his mouth at the scarcely distinguish- 
 able bed, just faintly outlined where it came between him and 
 the uncurtained window. But before the dim outline could 
 tell him anything, his acutely listening ear had caught the 
 sound of Angela's regular breathing. The miracle had failed. 
 She was asleep. 
 
 His own breath came short and quick, and he could feel 
 the beat of his heart as he crossed the floor to bend over her 
 recumbent figure where she had thrown herself half dressed on 
 the bed. His hand outlined her figure, stopping as it reached 
 her neck. 
 
 The beating of his heart was painful now, and frightened 
 him. Words seemed to ring in his ears that an hour ago 
 he had been speaking as the minister of God to those who 
 had been affected by the cobbler's agony. 
 
 " Remember that death may come at any moment, in the 
 twinkling of an eye, while we sleep, while we are steeped in 
 the fumes of intoxication. Just one more day of sin, just one 
 more sin, perhaps you say to yourselves, and we will turn to 
 God and accept His forgiveness for all the past; but in the 
 midst of that one sin your soul may be called to its account, 
 and your unrepented sins hurl you into those flames which 
 are so much more indescribably terrible than those which are 
 consuming your homes." 
 
 The words with which he had tried to alarm others occurred 
 to himself now. Was he sure that his heart was strong ? Was 
 he sure that he would live to repent and know God's peace 
 once more ? 
 
 But the fear could not turn him. The Beast held him 
 fast, and he felt that with damnatiou yawning before him he 
 must still go on. His quivering finders tore open rudely the 
 buttoned bodice which kept from him the fevering softness of 
 a woman's skin, and as his claws touched it Angela woke sud- 
 denly with a scream of alarm, drawing herself away from him. 
 
 It was well that they were alone in the ' ise, he told him- 
 
A CELIBATE'S WIFE 303 
 
 self, although her real fear seemed to him only due to ignorance 
 of who he was. 
 
 "Don't be frightened, dearest," he said, trying to speak 
 reassuringly, and cursing the hoarse harshness that had taken 
 all the music out of his voice. " It is only I, your husband." 
 
 She was sitting upright now, and he tried to draw her to 
 him. She caught his hand and tore it away from her waist 
 with a force that surprised him, and her stockinged feet 
 sounded on the floor. 
 
 He guessed rather than saw that she was intending to 
 leave the room, and reached the door before her. The next 
 moment he almost had her in his arms as she reached it too 
 late. She slipped out of his grasp again, and over the sound 
 of his heart's quick beating and his panting breath he could 
 hear the scratching sound of a match. 
 
 The next moment they stood looking at one another in its 
 light, Angela at the other side of the room by the dressing-table. 
 
 She was trying to light the candle there, but as he took a 
 step towards her she drew back, and the match went out. 
 In the complete darkness the Canon thought it safer to get 
 back to the door. 
 
 The girl had uttered no sound yet beyond her first in- 
 voluntary cry of alarm. Her silence maddened him. 
 
 " What is the matter, Httle wife ? It is only I, your hus- 
 oand," he said ; and the attempted caress in his voice made 
 her shudder as she had done at his touch. Her heart was 
 thumping as furiously as his, but from another cause. Her 
 face, if he could have seen it, was as pale with terror as the 
 linen of her bodice. 
 
 She made an effort to calm herself and to speak steadily. 
 
 " I cannot speak to you here, Canon Presyllett. I would 
 rather you left the room." 
 
 He had been prepared for some opposition, from her childish 
 shyness and modesty, and had intended to combat it with 
 convincing casuistries ; but every biblically expressed idea had 
 deserted him. He could think of nothing except that they 
 were alone in the house and that he was stronger than she. 
 
 The one glimpse he had caught in the match-light of her 
 half-clothed figure, with the red-gold of her hair flowing loose 
 
304 A CELIBATE'S WIFE 
 
 and dishevelled over her white shoulders, had inflamed him to 
 fury and left him all beast. 
 
 He was straining at the key which he had rendered useless, 
 trying to make it do its work now that its uselessness had 
 served his purpose; and when the task showed itself to be 
 a hopeless one, he stooped down to wedge the door beneath 
 with the knife from his pocket. 
 
 A triumphant sense of power came over him when the 
 door was secured and he could venture to seek for her in 
 the darkness where she was hidden. 
 
 In a moment he had reached her and was clasping her 
 waist, while the girl, in the last fury of panic, beat out at him 
 with her clenched hands, leaving marks on his gaunt face that 
 compelled the Rector of Windlehurst to remain as much as 
 possible in seclusion for some days afterwards. 
 
 He crushed her to him, with his face so close to hers that 
 she could not strike it. 
 
 " You must not be so cruel to me, darling one," he panted 
 hotly into her scorching ear. "This is not the way that a 
 wife should treat her husband." 
 
 " I am not your wife ! I am not your wife ! God save me 
 from ever being that," she cried distractedly, the words half 
 strangled by the tightness of his embrace. 
 
 Her strength seemed to be leaving her. His hot breath 
 on her face poisoned and suffocated her. She tried to think 
 that it was all a terrible nightmare. Was it possible that she 
 was awake and conscious; that this loathsome hot-breathed 
 thing was the priest whom she had idealised, as he stood in 
 the pulpit in the old days, into a saint of God? It was 
 too horrible for thought. Already she felt herself degraded 
 horribly by his loathsome touch, and what fresh degradation 
 would she not suffer if no help came. 
 
 For the help of her God she had been praying without words 
 from the moment of her awakening, with a confused entreaty 
 that was half addressed to the Deity and half to Gabriel. 
 
 Now she uttered a prayer aloud, with some quick inspira- 
 tion of self - deceiving womanly intuition that there might 
 remain sufficient of the cleric in this animal crushing her to 
 be affected by it. 
 
A CELIBATE'S WIFE 305 
 
 The Canon was deafened by the Beast, and did not relax 
 his hold ; but as Angela spoke there came one more of those 
 coincidences which are so disastrous to belief, so healthful to 
 superstition. 
 
 The loud clanging note of the door-bell echoed suddenly 
 through the silence of the house. 
 
 The animal in clerical clothing was taken aback by it, and 
 released his hold, and in a moment the girl had darted to the 
 door, trying to cry out for help. 
 
 He was afraid that his impromptu bar would give way 
 before the force of her desperation, and followed quickly to 
 place his back once more against the means of egress. 
 
 Angela had already found it fixed, and turning back to the 
 window, threw up the sash to scream for help. 
 
 " Be silent, for Heaven's sake," he said, coming towards her; 
 and Angela turned. 
 
 " Stop," she said, with a sudden courage which had come 
 to her with the answering of the prayer. " One step and I 
 will throw myself from the window." 
 
 The threat cowed him. There is a perspective to be taken 
 into account in all calculation of human motive, and for the 
 Canon the fear of a scandal in the parish loomed bigger than 
 the more distant damnation which his passion had braved. In 
 his fear lest she should carry out her threat, he threw open 
 the door. 
 
 " Your conduct is scandalous," he said angrily, and almost 
 with conviction — for it had become a habit with him to con- 
 sider every action wrong which opposed his own will. " I am 
 sure that on calmer consideration you will regret it. But I 
 have no wish to influence you by a mere exercise of strength. 
 I will leave you. Madam, to dress and see who is ringing at 
 this preposterous hour, and I should Uke to speak to you 
 after you have done so in my study." 
 
 She stood Hstening to the sound of his steps ascending the 
 stairs, and breathed again when she had heard the door of 
 his bedroom above open and close. Then hurriedly slipping 
 into her dress and shoes, she ran down to open the hall-door, 
 bundling her hair up as she ran. 
 
CHAPTER XXXIII 
 
 Miss Iphigenia Gaydon was one of those unfortunate people 
 who never lie down at night without reviewing the occurrences 
 of the day, making a special feature of unpleasant events, and 
 more especially of those which might have been different had 
 she acted or spoken more adroitly. Her mind dwelt on the 
 debates in which Prudence had come off best, and busied 
 itself elaborating the answers which would have changed 
 the battle could she only have thought of them at the 
 time. 
 
 To-night she kept herself awake thinking over the proba- 
 bility that Prudence would conquer as usual, and succeed in 
 her intention of being the first to undertake the management 
 of the Rectory. By the time that her own turn arrived, 
 Angela might elect to manage without assistance, and, in 
 any case, the honour would have been seriously discounted. 
 All the ladies in the place who called at the Rectory 
 and found Prudence there, would have learnt to associate 
 her sister, and not herself, with the position. Prudence 
 would be sure to speak as though her residence there was 
 a permanent one, and drop no word of the alternate 
 arrangement. 
 
 Iphigenia felt indignant with her in advance for such selfish 
 meanness, and decided resolutely that if by any chance she 
 herself got the first turn, she would act in just the same way, 
 to pay Prudence out for her intended unkindness. 
 
 If she could only guess the argument by which Prudence 
 intended to gain the day, after breakfast. She imagined 
 twenty, and prepared clever answers to demolish them all, but 
 old experience assured her that Prudence's argument would 
 be the twenty-first, and would find her unprepared. 
 
 306 
 
A CELIBATE'S WIFE 307 
 
 Prudence's calm assurance of victory made her very fearful 
 and very very jealous. What would her argument be ? 
 
 Suddenly she started. What if Prudence had no argument 
 at all, but intended to go to the Rectory before she was 
 up in the morning? The idea set her Uttle mind working 
 violently. How anxious Prudence had been that their visit 
 should be put off till the morrow. Iphigenia could see the 
 reason of her anxiety now, the reason that she had been 
 content to let the discussion remain unfinished. 
 
 It was true that her sister had stated definitely that she 
 would not go to the Rectory till after breakfast, and the 
 remembrance dispelled her fears for a few minutes. She 
 trusted her sister's word implicitly, as far as her word went. 
 The fact that neither of them would dream of telHng a verbal 
 He made the game of deception which they played with one 
 another a very intricate one, and Prudence's statement did 
 not long satisfy her sister. 
 
 Prudence would certainly not go to the Rectory till after 
 breakfast, since she had said so; but what was to prevent 
 her getting up early and breakfasting before her sister was 
 awake ? 
 
 The sisters' religious regard for the truth had accustomed 
 them both to little artifices of this description, and Iphigenia's 
 doubts became acute again. This must certainly be what 
 Prudence was intending to do, and the little Tomtit was 
 shocked at her sister's intended meanness. She must cir- 
 cumvent it, of course, even if she had to lie awake all night 
 in order to get to the Rectory first. 
 
 When, after a fitful sleep, she woke between five and six, 
 she rose at once and dressed very silently, so as not to 
 disturb Prudence; and after making a hasty cold breakfast 
 in the fireless kitchen, stepped on tiptoe into the hall to 
 draw back the bolts as quietly as possible. After she had 
 done so, she stopped a moment to listen if the house was 
 quite silent, and was startled to hear the door of Prudence's 
 room opening. Either the slight sound she had made must 
 have roused her sister, or else Prudence was preparing to 
 carry out the plan she had anticipated. 
 
 Full of fear in either case, the little old maid slipped out 
 
3o8 A CELIBATE'S WIFE 
 
 of the house in breathless haste, feehng that Prudence must 
 be looking at her from the window, but afraid to turn. 
 
 The fear that her sister was hurrying into her clothes to 
 follow her made her hasten. If once she could offer her 
 services to her niece, and Angela accepted them, Prudence 
 could not possibly interfere with the agreement. 
 
 Even when she found the whole village in a state of frantic 
 excitement over the disaster of the night, her fear of Prudence's 
 pursuit prevented her lingering longer than was necessary to 
 learn the barest facts about the fire. She was glancing im- 
 patiently over her shoulder all the time that Hodges, the 
 grocer, was telling her, in his doorway, of Gabriel Lyne's 
 heroism, and the Squire's lavish generosity in the way of 
 supplies for the homeless people in the school-room, which 
 seemed to excite even keener admiration in the breast of the 
 tradesman from whom the supplies had been purchased. He 
 was still busy sending them off, and Iphigenia hurried on, 
 glad to hear that the Canon had preceded her by less than 
 ten minutes. It relieved the doubt she had been feeling 
 lest she should arrive at the Rectory before even such an 
 early riser as Angela was out of bed. 
 
 If she could but get into the house, the earliness of her 
 visit would only impress the Rector and her niece with her 
 enthusiasm to help them in their extremity; and now she 
 went on more cheerfully, glancing back from time to time in 
 imminent expectation of seeing her sister hurrying alter her 
 along the dark road. 
 
 She drew a breath of relief when she reached the Rectory, 
 and walked more slowly and sedately up the long path that 
 led to the door. 
 
 " Prudence will find herself too clever for once," she said 
 as she stepped into the porch ; but the self-congratulation was 
 premature. Even as she spoke, she was roused into a new 
 fever of excitement by hearing the gate of the garden click 
 and the sound of footsteps hurrying up the path. Desperate 
 with the fear of losing her prize at the last moment, she seized 
 the bell-pull and tugged at it vigorously, sounding the peal 
 that answered poor Angela's prayer. 
 
 Then she pushed open the door and closed it behind her, to 
 
A CELIBATE'S WIFE 309 
 
 stand uncertain how to act in the dark hall. She thought 
 she caught the sound of voices on the floor above her, but 
 the fear that they proceeded from a bedroom prevented the 
 idea of her going higher from entering her maidenly mind. 
 She could hear Prudence in the porch now, and her ear caught 
 too the sound of a door opening above. The Canon's voice 
 sounded full of severity, but she could not catch the words. 
 Then the hall-door opened, and she was face to face with her 
 indignant sister. Prudence, with face all aflame with running, 
 and hat all awry with haste. 
 
 "Iphigenia Gaydon, I am ashamed to think that you are 
 a sister of mine," began the elder Tomtit belligerently. 
 
 " I am ashamed of you. Prudence Gaydon," retorted her 
 sister, " saying that you would not come here till after break- 
 fast, too." 
 
 " I have had it," retorted Prudence, indignant at the accu- 
 sation. She had half of it in her hand still — a slice of 
 dry bread which she had nearly choked herself nibbling at as 
 she ran. 
 
 " You must have breakfasted rather hastily," said Iphigenia 
 with icy irony ; and her sister was searching for a reply when 
 their niece came running downstairs with an impulsive excited 
 haste that they had never seen in her before, and which 
 assured them of the need she must be feeling of their help. 
 
 Prudence managed to secure her first, throwing her arms 
 round her neck. 
 
 " My dear child, I was so sorry to hear of your diflfi- 
 culties, and came over as early as possible to help you prepare 
 breakfast." 
 
 "Pardon me. Prudence," interposed her sister, still with 
 her calm air of bird-like dignity, " but I came first to offer 
 Angela my help, and I am sure that she does not need us 
 both." 
 
 The elder Tomtit ignored the remark altogether, and ad- 
 dressed herself only to her niece. 
 
 " I am sure that you must be at your wits' end, poor child, 
 but it will be all plain sailing now I have come." 
 
 It was dawning upon her, even in the semi-darkness of the 
 hall, that her niece was trembling and excited. 
 
3IO A CELIBATE'S WIFE 
 
 " I think that you might leave Angela to decide which of 
 us she would prefer to stay with her," said Iphigenia, feeling 
 herself left out in the cold ; and to her surprise the girl began 
 to laugh hysterically. The idea of two ladies struggling for 
 the honour of remaining in and managing such a house of 
 horror for a man like the Rector, the difference between 
 what he was and what they thought him, overcame her and 
 forced her to laugh, although the laughter hurt her and made 
 her cry. 
 
 She got free with difficulty from the embraces of the two 
 little ladies, each struggUng to comfort and caress her, and 
 flung open the door. 
 
 " Come," she said excitedly, forcing back her momentary 
 hysteria, " we can none of us stay here. It is not safe. He 
 is an unholy, wicked man. I shall never enter the house 
 again." 
 
 The poor little Tomtits followed her with frightened wonder 
 down the obscure garden path, each too startled to speak. 
 
 Half in jealousy of each other and half in real tenderness, 
 they had taken one of the girl's arms apiece, and walked three 
 abreast. 
 
 Iphigenia, thinking of the time when her lover died, was 
 stroking the girl's hand. Prudence was thinking of the scandal 
 which seemed imminent, and was the first to speak. 
 
 " We will walk up and down the garden until you are calmer, 
 dear," she said, " and you must tell us all about it. Has the 
 Canon been reproving you ? If so, dear, you must remember 
 that he is your husband, and that it is only right for him to 
 try and correct " 
 
 Angela interrupted her. She had grown quite calm now, 
 and spoke with something of her old dogmatism. 
 
 " Canon Presyllett is not my husband. He has no claim 
 whatever upon me. Thank God he has shown me plainly 
 that my promise no longer binds me when he has broken 
 his." 
 
 The old maids thought she must still be rather hysterical. 
 
 " You must let me go home with you and be your niece, 
 Angela Gaydon, again," she went on ; and the scandal loomed 
 bigger in Prudence's mind. 
 
A CELIBATE'S WIFE 311 
 
 " I think that we had better walk up and down here until 
 you are calmer, dear," she said, " and can tell us what has 
 offended you, and let us advise you before you take any 
 rash step." 
 
 "I would rather not speak of what has happened just 
 yet," said Angela, shuddering involuntarily at the horror of 
 what had passed, at the thought of her foolishness, which 
 she saw now in its true colours. Her conscience had re- 
 volted from the first from the deception of her pretended 
 marriage. The result had shown that she ought to have 
 obeyed its leading. The fright and degradation, as she felt 
 it, through which she had passed, had gained her at least 
 this absolute certainty, that no idea of right at all could 
 compel her to keep up the farce of her nominal marriage; 
 and a sense of sweet freedom came over her, which lifted 
 her out of the horror of the past and made her spirits rise 
 jubilantly. 
 
 She smiled when her aunt proceeded to point out the 
 advantage of talking her little difference with her husband 
 over quietly with them and letting them act as mediators. 
 
 "I can never return to the Rectory," she said with firm 
 decision. 
 
 "But, my dear child, whatever the Canon has done to 
 offend you, you must remember that you are married to him," 
 said Prudence. " You must consider what people will think 
 if you leave his home, even for a little while, and return 
 to us." 
 
 " People may think what they like, auntie. I shall never 
 come back here." 
 
 "But I care what people think," said her aunt rather severely, 
 " and I really do not believe that my sister and I would be 
 justified in giving you a home if you persist in leaving that of 
 your husband." 
 
 " But it can do no harm, dear," put in Iphigenia gently, 
 " if we take Angela home to breakfast. Nobody can suspect 
 anything from the fact, and she will no doubt see matters 
 more sensibly and brightly after she has had something to eat. 
 And it is quite dark still. Nobody will notice us." 
 
 They had reached the gate by now, and Prudence had laid 
 
312 A CELIBATE'S WIFE 
 
 her hand on it as if to keep her niece a prisoner in her hus- 
 band's premises. 
 
 She was about to answer, when an interruption came in 
 the shape of Dr. Cairn, stepping vigorously out of the semi- 
 darkness with characteristic briskness. 
 
 "Morning, ladies. Morning, Mrs. Presyllett. A terrible 
 night's work this. I was just coming over to you to ask a favour. 
 I know that you are always ready for an act of charity, and I 
 am really at my wits' end for a nurse. I know that in a case 
 of need you don't let a man's creed stand in the way of your 
 Good Samaritanism." 
 
 " No," said Angela eagerly, glad of the chance of practical 
 service. " Who is it that needs my help ? " 
 
 The doctor hesitated a little. 
 
 " Perhaps you will have a chance of converting him, now 
 that he is on his back," he said, to smooth the way; and 
 Angela's thought flew at once to the infidel cobbler. 
 
 She asked whether it were he. 
 
 *' No, Skeggs is in the hospital," he said briskly ; " but 
 poor Lyne we took home. I should not have allowed it if I 
 had known what a poor creature that housekeeper of his is. 
 She has no more idea than a baby of nursing an injured man. 
 Why, I found her taking ice-cold water, just because I did 
 not say distinctly that it was to be warmed to " 
 
 The girl interrupted him eagerly. Her face had grown 
 quite white, and her voice trembled. 
 
 " Mr. Lyne has been hurt ? " she asked. 
 
 " Goodness ! yes ; haven't you heard of his heroism ? It is 
 all over the village. Faced almost certain death, they tell 
 me, to get old Mrs. Mordan out of the fire. She was dead, 
 poor soul, before he reached her, I believe. Still it was a 
 splendid bit of courage, and I don't mind saying that the 
 man's a grand fellow, Mrs. Presyllett, if he does believe a 
 little differently from the Canon and the rest of us. Why, 
 the very hair is burnt off his head ! " 
 
 For a moment Angela felt the ground sway under her, and 
 she clutched at the gate to prevent herself falling. Only the 
 thought that her help was needed by the man she loved kept 
 her from fainting. 
 
A CELIBATE'S WIFE 313 
 
 In the half light nobody seemed to notice her weakness. 
 Miss Prudence's voice came to her indistinctly as above the 
 roaring of waves. 
 
 " I hardly think that Canon Presyllett would approve of his 
 wife nursing such a man as Mr. Lyne." 
 
 " I think that you are wrong, Madam — if the Rector is a 
 Christian. What do you say, Mrs. Presyllett ? " 
 
 " I am sure that no Christian could refuse," said Angela, 
 commanding her voice. " Is Mr. Lyne in danger ? " 
 
 " No, thank goodness ; although it seems a miracle that he 
 is as well as he is. He has been pretty badly burnt, and 
 I left him delirious, but I have no doubt that we shall pull 
 him round very soon. It won't be my fault if we don't. I 
 don't often have a hero on my hands." 
 
 Angela breathed a deep sigh of relief, and all her energies 
 came back. 
 
 " I will go to him at once," she said. 
 
 " But, my dear child," said her aunts both together in dis- 
 may, " under the circumstances ! " 
 
 "And you have not breakfasted, have you?" added 
 Iphigenia. 
 
 Angela smiled, and only replied by opening the gate. To 
 think of breakfast when Gabriel was ill and needed her 
 help! 
 
 She attached herself to the doctor, asking him eagerly every 
 detail of the fire ; while the poor little Tomtits followed behind, 
 discussing in excited whispers the madvisability of the step 
 which the self-willed girl was taking. 
 
 They had jumped to the conclusion from the first that 
 the quarrel between Angela and her husband was connected 
 with her preposterous infatuation for the Windlehurst Infidel 
 and his books. Perhaps a qualm of conscience for the part 
 they had played in the matter helped to make the suspicion 
 a certainty with them. After what they had said to the 
 Canon they could understand him speaking very severely 
 indeed to his wife, and Angela's self-will and impatience of 
 control explained the rest. But what would her husband 
 say when he heard that she had gone straight from his 
 reproofs to play the part of nurse to the man who had 
 
314 A CELIBATE'S WIFE 
 
 already obtained such a shocking influence over her mind? 
 The fear of an open rupture, of that most terrible thing in 
 their little world, a scandal, became more imminent ; and still, 
 what could they do with a self-willed unmanageable person 
 like their niece? 
 
 They discussed the question in excited twitterings behind 
 her back, while the doctor in front was giving her a brisk 
 account of the fire and of Gabriel's heroism, which made the 
 man more and more of a god to her. 
 
 At the end of the Hartle lane the doctor had to leave 
 her ; for a doctor must breakfast whatever happens, and there 
 were other sufferers from the fire. 
 
 The old maids pounced upon her excitedly as soon as he 
 was gone. 
 
 "Angela, you must not go to that man," said Prudence 
 quite fiercely. 
 
 " It really is not proper for a young lady to go to his 
 house," put in Iphigenia. 
 
 " Let alone the insult to your dear husband," added 
 Prudence. 
 
 Angela faced them with the immovable calm they had 
 learnt to dread. 
 
 " My dear aunts, I have told you that Canon Presyllett is 
 not my husband. You will soon learn with what trickery and 
 deceit he entrapped me into taking his name and living in 
 his house; but that is all over now, and I have not time to 
 talk about it at present, when my patient is waiting for my 
 attention." 
 
 " If you persist in your scandalous conduct, I shall feel it 
 my duty to go and inform the Canon at once," said Prudence, 
 rendered frantic by her obstinacy. 
 
 " Whatever Canon Presyllett hears, or says, or does is not 
 of the slightest importance to me," said Angela, full of im- 
 patience to be off; and she turned away, leaving the two 
 Tomtits staring at one another hopelessly. Iphigenia was the 
 first to speak, with lowered voice. 
 
 " Do you think, dear," she said timidly, " that poor Angela 
 is quite responsible for what she says and does. She has 
 always seemed rather strange; and this wild talk about not 
 
A CELIBATE'S WIFE 315 
 
 being married to her husband, when we were both present 
 at the wedding, really makes me think — it seems a terrible 
 suggestion to make, but really there seems no other ex- 
 planation." 
 
 "I was just beginning to think the same thing," said 
 Prudence. " Well, there is no doubt about our duty in the 
 matter. We must return to the Rectory at once and tell her 
 poor husband everything that has happened." 
 
CHAPTER XXXIV 
 
 Angela was one of those good women who love nursing, and 
 her devotion to it, both in the French village below the 
 chateau where she had lived with Cecile, and in Windlehurst 
 and Barnwood, had done much to prevent her ascetic creed 
 stifling the real womanliness in her, and freezing her heart 
 with its condemnation of human emotions. The tenderness 
 and sympathy which it was worldly for her to waste on mere 
 earthly friendships or sociability, found a religious vent for 
 itself in*the tending of the weak and aihng; and her enthu- 
 siasm in Auvergne for devoting herself to every sick villager 
 had rather annoyed Cecile, whose sensitiveness was shocked 
 by many of the duties which a nurse is called upon to per- 
 form. To Angela they were made holy by their usefulness, 
 and she had never shrunk from any duty when a human 
 pain could be relieved one iota by the sacrifice of her natural 
 instinct of delicacy. 
 
 During the little while that she had been in Windlehurst 
 she had earned a reputation which more than justified the 
 reliance that good old Dr. Cairn placed in her. 
 
 The well-controlled calm and perfect self-confidence, which, 
 with the aid of a narrow infallible creed to assure her that she 
 was right and everybody else wrong, had made her beauty 
 alone save her in ordinary intercourse from being actually 
 repellent, transformed themselves in the sick-room into the 
 most necessary qualifications of an ideal nurse. 
 
 The fact explained the totally opposite opinions which were 
 held about her in the parish. Those she had exhorted were 
 ready to ridicule and revile her, those she had helped in 
 illness worshipped her as an angel. 
 
 The calming influence of her presence made itself felt 
 
 316 
 
A CELIBATE'S WIFE 317 
 
 instantly at " The Barn," where she had found Mrs. Marlow 
 red-eyed with faithful weeping, and in a state of complete 
 mental distraction over the written orders that Dr. Cairn had 
 left with her. 
 
 The old lady was full of grateful relief as she led the calm- 
 faced girl up the pleasant low-balustered staircase to the 
 confusion of rooms above, which all seemed to open upon 
 one another with a perfect contempt of the ordinary rules of 
 bedroom architecture. 
 
 Angela's heart beat a little more rapidly as the first door 
 was opened, but it took her only into a box-room, at the 
 other side of which appeared a blind passage leading into 
 another unfurnished room, upon which the Infidel's bed- 
 room opened. The journey, short as it was, appeared to 
 her one of intolerable length. But the length of it was 
 forgotten instantly when she found herself in the same room 
 with her hero — her hero, not as she had known him in the 
 full beauty of his strength and manliness, but tossing rest- 
 lessly from side to side with feverish muttering, one arm 
 heavily bandaged, and his face, that had been so full of calm 
 sweetness and thought, scarred disfiguringly across the nose 
 and cheek, and flushed with delirium. 
 
 He was none the less her hero, none the less loved, for 
 these signs of his heroism ; and the girl felt an almost over- 
 powering impulse to throw herself on her knees by the side 
 of his low bed, kissing his dry lips and hot brow, and pillow- 
 ing his restless head on her arm. 
 
 It was the instinct of the nurse rather than scruples of 
 shyness and modesty which conquered the emotion of pure 
 unselfish tenderness. 
 
 She turned to the old housekeeper. 
 
 " You should not let him toss about like this ; he will move 
 the bandage on his arm." 
 
 "But what am I to do, ma'am? I cannot hold him 
 still." 
 
 Angela did not answer. She was drawing down the blind 
 at the window through which the sun, just risen, fell across 
 his face, after opening the window a little to relieve the 
 closeness of the room. Then she had crossed with silent 
 
3i8 A CELIBATE'S WIFE 
 
 unhurrying footsteps to the bed, to smooth with deft fingers 
 the disordered pillow and lay her cool hand on the delirious 
 man's forehead, after renewing the oil that had dried on his 
 scarred face. 
 
 The effect was magical. Before the wondering Mrs. 
 Marlow had been dismissed to dress ready for any service 
 that might be required of her — for the old lady, startled 
 out of her sleep by the arrival of her injured master, was 
 still wandering about distracted in the impromptu costume 
 she had hurried on to answer the door — she had seen the 
 restless tossing cease, and the incoherent mutterings of his 
 delirium had become calmer and more connected. 
 
 When she had gone, Angela walked to the window and 
 drew the blind aside to read the directions which the doctor 
 had left. Then seeing that there was nothing to be done 
 for the present, she drew a chair to the side of the bed, and 
 sat there holding Gabriel's uninjured hand in her cool one. 
 
 A sense of perfect content and peace had come over her 
 with the conviction, gained both from Dr. Cairn's directions 
 and the appearance of her patient, that Gabriel would not 
 die. Her heart was full of gratitude. What greater delight 
 could God have given her than to wait on her hero, to know 
 that he was so dependent on her care ? 
 
 Her nominal marriage already seemed part of a horrible 
 nightmare destined to fade into the background of her mind 
 and torture her no more. The future did not trouble her. 
 The happiness of the present was all-sufficient. 
 
 She would not let her mind dwell on the time when 
 Gabriel would regain consciousness and know her, feehng 
 vaguely the need that there would be then for reticence on 
 her part. Now she could make no show of reserve to herself. 
 She could admit that her heart and soul and body were 
 ready to be offered up a willing sacrifice to this man, who 
 had never asked for the gift. She would not let her mind 
 dwell on the chances that he did not desire the gift; but 
 when he regained consciousness, she knew that the uncer- 
 tainty would raise a cold barrier of reserve between them, 
 and frighten her from admitting even to herself what her own 
 heart had told her so plainly. 
 
A CELIBATE'S WIFE 319 
 
 With a rapturous joy in the freedom that was hers still, 
 she bent down and pressed her lips to the hot hand which 
 she held in hers. 
 
 The action seemed to rouse him a little from the stupor 
 into which he seemed falUng, and he began to speak again 
 so naturally and quietly that Angela's heart stood still with 
 the shock of thinking that he had regained consciousness 
 and knew what she had done. 
 
 But he was only speaking of the fire, and by-and-by in 
 his quiet voice he went through again the debate that had 
 been in his mind as he mounted the burning ladder to almost 
 certain death. 
 
 " Life ! What is the good of life if I must not think of 
 her ? " he was saying ; and Angela bent lower, listening eagerly, 
 half ashamed of playing eavesdropper to the man's soul, and 
 still unable to resist the temptation. 
 
 " But the old woman is bedridden, lying there waiting, 
 and you are one of the hounds that let her wait," he went 
 on more excitedly; and Angela laid her cool hand on his 
 forehead again softly. 
 
 The action soothed him and made him silent again, and 
 the girl sat waiting, half glad at his silence, half anxious to 
 hear again words that might tell her what she was longing 
 to know. The few sentences she had heard had contained a 
 suggestion which filled her with hunger. 
 
 While she waited, glad and yet sorry for his silence, Mrs. 
 Marlow came in, making quite a to-do at the door in her 
 efforts to open it noiselessly, to inquire whether Mrs. Pre- 
 syllett had breakfasted. 
 
 Angela was sufficiently human to be feeling ravenously 
 hungry, and was glad of the old lady's oifer to bring her up 
 something to eat. 
 
 "I shall not be many minutes, Mrs. Presyllett," she said 
 as she left the room again ; and the name seemed to reach 
 the dehrious man. 
 
 " Mrs. Presyllett," he repeated softly ; and Angela thought 
 that he had become conscious and was addressing her. But 
 when she went over to his side, after reclosing the door 
 silently, it was to find him still talking to himself. 
 
320 A CELIBATE'S WIFE 
 
 "She really must not come," he was saying. "I can't 
 stand it if she keeps coming. I shall have to leave the 
 place. Really it is very kind of you, but if you only knew 
 how hard it is for me, my beautiful little Nun." 
 
 Angela's heart was in her mouth. She bent forward eagerly. 
 
 After a long pause of suspense for her, Gabriel went on 
 talking again. 
 
 " And why not ? She cannot love a creature like that, and 
 I love her a hundred times more truly than he can ever do. 
 Why not?" 
 
 Angela's heart beat tumultuously. For a moment she 
 was perfectly happy in the certainty that the words could 
 only apply to herself, that she had the assurance she craved 
 for of her hero's love. But his next words made her 
 puzzled and doubtful again, and struck a cold chill to her 
 heart. 
 
 " The baby, of course," he said, as if in answer to himself. 
 " I cannot make her look back now, or the degradation of the 
 past would kill her, poor thing. Right or wrong, wise or 
 foolish, the baby must make it permanent." 
 
 Angela was getting puzzled and distressed. What baby ? 
 
 " But perhaps — " he went on, and seemed to stop himself. 
 " No, an accident makes nothing right. Right for me, wrong 
 for everybody else. A pretty gospel to have in one's heart 
 when one looks one's fellow-men in the face." He laughed 
 bitterly. 
 
 Angela could not understand what he meant at all, and, 
 frightened by the appearance of increasing delirium, smoothed 
 his pillow once more, and forced herself to become calmer, 
 lest her agitation should affect him. 
 
 The result seemed to justify her, for the patient became 
 silent again, and closed his eyes to fall into what appeared a 
 state of greater restfulness. 
 
 He seemed asleep when her breakfast appeared, and, for 
 fear of disturbing him, she had the tray Mrs. Marlow had 
 brought up placed in the next room, attacking the dainty 
 repast with haste in her eagerness to get back to her 
 charge. 
 
 Mrs. Marlow had stopped to chat, dropping her voice to a 
 
A CELIBATE'S WIFE 321 
 
 whisper, because the door of the sick-room had been left open 
 for Angela to hear if her patient moved. 
 
 " I really don't know what I should have done, ma'am, if 
 you had not come," she was saying in a burst of gratitude. 
 " I have never been used to nursing, and somehow the sight 
 of anybody ill always takes my wits away. The doctor spoke 
 of telegraphing to town for a trained nurse from one of the 
 hospitals, but I hope you will not leave the poor master until 
 she comes. You seem to have made him ever so much better 
 already. He seems to be sleeping quite peaceful now. It 
 made me feel that I couldn't do anything but cry to see him 
 tossing about and muttering like he was; and such a good 
 master as he has been to me too, and so brave, they tell me, 
 he was at the fire," and the old lady began to wipe her eyes 
 with her clean apron again. 
 
 " I think that we shall soon have him well," said Angela 
 cheerfully. 
 
 " And you won't go away until the nurse comes, will you, 
 ma'am?" said Mrs. Marlow earnestly. Angela shook her 
 head. 
 
 " I shall not leave Mr. Lyne until he is quite convalescent. 
 You can make a bed up for me in this room if you will, so 
 that I can stay through the night." 
 
 The old lady's face filled with gratitude. 
 
 " You are very good and kind, ma'am. Dr. Cairn seemed 
 afraid that you might not come at all, seeing that the master 
 does not believe the same things as you believe or go to your 
 church. But perhaps there won't be any need for you to 
 trouble. If the doctor telegraphs as he said he would, the 
 hospital nurse will be here before evening, I believe." 
 
 The doctor himself came in as she spoke. With his usual 
 good sense and desire to save people trouble, he had let him- 
 self in, and walked up straight to the sick-room. He smiled 
 when he saw the Rector's wife so evidently at home. 
 
 " Well, and how is our patient, Mrs. Presyllett ? " 
 
 " Asleep," said Angela, and she followed him into the sick- 
 room, watching him anxiously as he felt the sick man's pulse, 
 and trying to read in his face that her own sanguine hopes 
 were justified. 
 
322 A CELIBATE'S WIFE 
 
 Mrs. Marlow had gone when they returned to the other 
 room, and the doctor opened his lips. 
 
 " Capital ! " he said in his brisk way. " Fever subsiding. 
 Pulse more regular. We shall have our hero himself again 
 in no time now. He has a splendid constitution, and will 
 shake off the effects of his shock quickly. I should not be 
 surprised if he is quite ready to take an interest in what is 
 going on around him when he wakes. You must not let him 
 talk too much, or be too eager to convert him to the faith, 
 Mrs. Presyllett." 
 
 There was an amused twinkle in the old man's eye as 
 he spoke, for he had heard a good deal of the girl's evan- 
 gelical work, and had put down to proselytising zeal her evident 
 eagerness to nurse the invalid Infidel. 
 
 Angela reddened a little, which was unusual for her, but 
 did not answer. 
 
 "You spoke to Mrs. Marlow of sending for a hospital 
 nurse," she said after a pause. " I hope you have not done 
 so yet." 
 
 " No ; I thought I would consult you first. There is still 
 plenty of time, if you would like her to come. But your 
 willingness to nurse our unbelieving hero made me think, 
 after seeing you, that you might like him left in your charge 
 altogether. It is certainly an opportunity you may not have 
 again of making him see your side of the question — not that 
 it seems to me to matter very much what a man believes, 
 when he can act as Gabriel Lyne has done. I know you 
 will think me a sad sinner, Mrs. Presyllett, but I can't help 
 believing that our young friend would have had a better 
 chance of heaven, if he had been killed last night, than many 
 of the good church-goers who stood round fearing to risk 
 their skins." 
 
 There was a twinkle in the old man's eye as he finished, 
 for he rather enjoyed shocking the young lady's cocksure 
 theology, and it was not the first time that he had done so. 
 To his surprise, however, she made no attempt to defend it, 
 or to insist on the need of belief in Christ as an absolute 
 sine qua non of eternal salvation. All her mind seemed 
 centred on the question of the nurse. 
 
A CELIBATE'S WIFE 323 
 
 "I am glad that you have not sent for anybody," she 
 said eagerly. " I should like to take complete charge of the 
 case." 
 
 " Now, that is very good of you," he said briskly, making 
 her flush a little with a vague feeling of hypocrisy. " I am 
 sure that he could not be left in better hands, and I think 
 we can trust Mrs. Marlow to look after the night-work. He 
 won't want much attention then." 
 
 "I have asked the housekeeper to make me up a bed 
 here," said Angela; and the doctor smiled again. 
 
 " Well, if you do not manage to make L5me a good church- 
 man when he gets better, you deserve to," he said ; and the 
 girl flushed again. 
 
 "I have no desire to make Mr. Lyne a churchman. I 
 am only anxious for his recovery." 
 
 " Then you are a splendid little woman," he said, with the 
 patronising enthusiasm of a warm-hearted old man, "and I 
 think the church would have a hundred times more influence 
 nowadays if all the parsons had wives like you." 
 
 It was on the tip of her tongue to say that she no longer 
 considered herself a parson's wife, but she had decided in her 
 mind to make no public announcement of her abandonment 
 of the nominal marriage until she had submitted the question 
 to Gabriel. She had accepted him unreservedly as her leader 
 now, and was prepared to act entirely according to his de- 
 cisions. Even to let Dr. Cairn think that she had any idea 
 of changing the Infidel's creed seemed to her an act of un- 
 faithfulness, and she forced herself to try and remove the 
 impression. 
 
 " I think that Mr. Lyne is nearer to our Master than many 
 who call themselves by His name," she said ; and the old doctor 
 patted her on the back in his fatherly fashion. 
 
 "That is just my idea, Mrs. Presyllett, and I am glad to 
 hear you speak so sensibly. I'd bet on Lyne's chances at the 
 last day against that of a good many who sing the creeds 
 very loud every Sunday and never show a trace of their 
 Christianity all the week. But I don't know what the Rector 
 would say to us." 
 
 He gave a little laugh as he spoke, and then changed 
 
324 A CELIBATE'S WIFE 
 
 the subject abruptly, as he saw from her face that the allu- 
 sion to her husband's dislike and denunciation of the Infidel 
 pained her. 
 
 " Well, I shall be happy to leave our hero in your charge," 
 he said brightly, taking up his hat. " The only thing I was 
 afraid of was that you might begin to bother the man about 
 his soul too soon. Leave that alone, and you will have him 
 well in no time." 
 
 Her face was quite bright again when she bid him " Good- 
 bye," and she went back into the darkened room to sit by the 
 side of the peacefully sleeping man again with her hand laid 
 on his. She drew it away only when she remembered that 
 Gabriel might be conscious when he woke, and gave up her 
 mind to thoughts recalled by the doctor's words. 
 
 Surely belief in Jesus, the belief necessary to salvation, 
 was not a matter of words or of mental effort at all. Words 
 were nothing, and the effort to accept historical facts in the 
 face of mental conviction was little more than dishonesty. 
 Could God punish Gabriel for his honesty, and reward the 
 Canon for considering only his eternal safety, and refusing, 
 through fear and prejudice, to consider two sides of a ques- 
 tion? Was not belief after all a matter not of the mind 
 alone, but of the life; and the truest believer in Christ the 
 one whose life was most Christ-like, whether he called himself 
 Christian or not? 
 
 Although she did not reahse the fact, she had accepted as 
 an axiom of belief that Gabriel Lyne could not be damned, 
 and her creed had to readjust itself to make the axiom tenable. 
 She was encouraged by finding that her new definition of 
 belief made her God more just. For the first time in her life 
 she could let her mind dwell on the thousands and thousands 
 of human beings who have lived and died without ever hearing, 
 or having the chance of hearing, the name of Jesus. Were 
 they all to be punished eternally by a just God for not having 
 possessed the belief that was impossible to them ? In the old 
 days, when belief in Jesus had been the mental acceptance of 
 an historical fact, and a favourable criticism of the character 
 of Jesus as shown in the New Testament persisted in by an 
 effort of prejudiced will, she had kept the thought of these 
 
A CELIBATE'S WIFE 325 
 
 ignorant thousands of souls resolutely out of her mind, as a 
 temptation of the Evil One to make her faith falter. She had 
 told herself that God would see to the matter, and at the 
 same time clung to a belief which made any adjustment on 
 His part logically impossible. 
 
 But now Gabriel had become dearer to her than her creed, 
 and she faced the facts of the universe boldly. If to call one- 
 self a Christian was to ally oneself with those like Canon 
 Presyllett, who had distorted every word and action of Christ's 
 to make it justify their own self-righteousness, selfishness, 
 and wickedness, surely it was more Christ-like to abandon 
 the name altogether, as Gabriel had done. Why did people 
 cling to the name ? Was it through any devotion to Christ ? 
 Was it not only that the name had become a badge of respecta- 
 bility ? 
 
 Angela thought of her aunts, whose Christianity and church- 
 going was simply a department of their respectability, a desire 
 to do what was correct and lady-like ; and, in her independence 
 and thirst for sacrifice, she felt hungry for the social ostracism 
 which attends the infidel. 
 
 The passion which she felt for the condemnation of society 
 was due to her worship of the person of Jesus, her desire to 
 make her life as far as possible a counterpart of His. The 
 fact that the renunciation of Christianity would make her, like 
 Him, an opponent to the highly respectable religion of the day, 
 frowned upon for her beliefs, tended to make the very following 
 of Jesus demand that she should follow Him in a new manner 
 unrecognised by so-called religious people and Christians. All 
 professed Christians had become identified with the Pharisees 
 of the Bible story, against whom her Lord's anger had been 
 so unceasing. Was not Canon Presyllett a very type of the 
 whited sepulchre, with his outward show of piety, and his 
 heartless treatment of the poor from whom he drew his rents 
 at Barnwood, with his insistence on all the outward forms of 
 religion, with his bigoted hostility to any one who taught ideas 
 different from his own ? 
 
 The parallel was none the less pleasing to her because it 
 made Gabriel occupy the position of Christ, irritating the 
 Pharisees by teaching a purer and more living religion, and 
 
326 A CELIBATE'S WIFE 
 
 denouncing the forms and shibboleths which had become the 
 whole of religion to them. 
 
 There was nothing to disturb her thoughts in the sick- 
 room, to which there intruded no sound from the world 
 without. She was surprised when she heard from Mrs. 
 Mario w, over her dinner, that the cottage had been inundated 
 with callers. The news of Gabriel's heroism had spread far 
 and wide, rousing the whole neighbourhood into a reaction 
 in favour of the man they had avoided and spoken evil 
 against. Even the Vicar of Harde had driven over to leave 
 his condolences and flowers. 
 
 The flowers were so plentifully spread out in the Infidel's 
 study that they reminded Angela of her home-coming to the 
 Rectory, and made her shudder in consequence. Everybody 
 with a vinery for miles round had sent grapes, including the 
 Squire, who had been the first to call with his wife, and 
 had left grumbling at the doctor's order, which forbade any- 
 body to see his patient. 
 
 Mrs. Gateacre had come prepared to play the part of nurse, 
 and was rather taken aback to find herself forestalled. 
 
 " Don't you think that I had better take her place ? " she 
 said to her husband in a whisper. " If Gabriel is as fond of 
 her as you think, it seems rather unwise." 
 
 "Well, it can't do any harm while the poor fellow is de- 
 lirious," said the Squire, who hated his wife to be out of the 
 house even on an errand of mercy. " We will talk about it 
 next week, when he is pulling round again. Not but that I 
 would trust him absolutely then. He is a fine fellow, as true 
 as steel." 
 
 He was feeling very proud that he had been the only one 
 in Windlehurst to recognise the fact ; and the justification of 
 his faith in the Infidel made him ready to expose him con- 
 fidently to new temptation. 
 
 "Besides, the girl is such a block of marble," said his 
 wife. "I really do not see how he can care for her very 
 much." 
 
CHAPTER XXXV 
 
 The Reverend Canon Presyllett had not been among those who, 
 forgiving Gabriel Lyne's opinions for the sake of his heroism, 
 had called with presents and inquiries at " The Barn." 
 
 Although the old maids of Lilac Lodge had carried out 
 their intention of returning to the Rectory, where they were 
 shocked to see the Rector suffering from his wife's personal 
 violence, and quite ready to agree with them that the honour 
 of being made his wife had affected her mind, and although 
 the Rector had been quite as much excited by the news they 
 brought as the deeply commiserating ladies had anticipated, 
 still he had let the day go by without taking any action. 
 
 When the old maids, after much private debating as to 
 the propriety of the step, had remained to make breakfast 
 for him, they left the house under the impression that he 
 was starting for the Infidel's cottage at once, to insist on 
 his revolted wife's return ; but the Canon was in no haste to 
 undertake the duty. 
 
 The Infidel's injuries, which had appeared to the Canon 
 even more serious than they actually were, relieved him from 
 any pressing fear of the man's influence on his wife, and he 
 was very shy of being seen abroad in the daylight with his 
 blackened eye. 
 
 But the real fact which made him hesitate was his know- 
 ledge that he had no influence at all over Angela. His 
 authority as a husband she had never admitted, and he 
 knew well enough that the scene of the morning had irre- 
 trievably robbed him of that spiritual authority as a minister 
 which had enabled him for two days to triumphantly direct 
 her actions. The exercise of brute force had left brute force 
 the only weapon in his hands, and it was one to which he 
 
 337 
 
32S A CELIBATE'S WIFE 
 
 was quite unaccustomed. He shrank from using it. Not 
 that he felt any natural repugnance to brutality. A husband's 
 authority must be maintained by any means that God has 
 placed in his hand for that purpose, superior strength in- 
 cluded. But violence was almost indissolubly connected 
 with scandal, and the Rector shrank from public scandal 
 even more sensitively than the old maids of Lilac Lodge 
 themselves. An atmosphere of reverence and respect was 
 necessary to his existence, it was the outward tribute to his 
 holiness, on which his sense of holiness fed itself, and without 
 which it could not long exist ; and anything which threatened 
 it appeared to him an offence against his soul, and against 
 the religion which he officially represented. Any show of 
 disrespect to himself, even in his most secular character, 
 became in this way an irreligious injury to his God, to be 
 warded off at all cost. 
 
 This attitude of thought enabled him to look upon Angela's 
 desertion in what he considered a quite impersonal light. 
 Putting his own pride and passion out of the question, he 
 must resist it with all his power as a matter of religion. For 
 a wife to resist the authority of her husband was a sin from 
 which he must save Angela at all costs. If by resisting his 
 ai:*;hority she cast discredit upon a minister of God, the action 
 was a direct offence against God Himself, to avoid which any 
 means, any emotion became justified, even the passion which 
 still consumed him. 
 
 His desire for the holiness of complete purity had been 
 undermined by the fact that it was unrecognised by the parish. 
 His attitude towards it was proving how close was the con- 
 nection between his virtues and their public recognition, 
 although he was far from realising the fact. He was only 
 conscious that the delight of being holier than other men 
 had decreased from the moment that his congregation began 
 to credit him with the comparative purity of the ordinary 
 married man. 
 
 The gradual change was brought to a head by his wife's 
 desertion, and he no longer shrank from deliberately medi- 
 tating the act which had become necessary to cement the 
 tie she wished to sever, to secure her proper subjection to 
 
A CELIBATE'S WIFE 329 
 
 his authority, and to save the earthly representative ot God 
 from being made to look ridiculous in the eyes of those 
 whose respect for religion was bound up with their respect 
 for himself. 
 
 Instead of feeling any shame for the weakness of the 
 morning, he was beginning to look upon his fall as the direct 
 leading of God, showing him that comparative impurity had 
 become necessary for the salvation of his wife's soul and the 
 avoidance of scandal. With his infatuated respect for co- 
 incidences, he had assured himself that the very fact of his 
 continued temptation after the fire showed Divine approval 
 of his surrender to it. The coincidence which had for the 
 second time prevented the accomplishment of his purpose 
 did not appeal to him; for coincidences are like texts and 
 statistics : we must decide what we want to prove before we 
 select the particular ones we need in order to prove it. 
 
 His idea of the sinfulness of consummating his marriage 
 decreased in inverse ratio with the difficulties which prevented 
 him doing so ; and now that his wife had left him, the Beast 
 ruled supreme in him, with no remonstrating voice from the 
 Angel at all. 
 
 He sat all day long in his study in a state of distressing 
 indecision between his hungry desire to get his wife back 
 under his control, and a knowledge of his perfect impotence 
 to do so without danger of a scandal. All day long he re- 
 mained praying and thinking in the silent house, paying no 
 attention to the few rings that came at the door-bell, and 
 tasting no food. 
 
 As the early shades of evening began to close in, the fear 
 of scandal faced him on both sides, and drove him into action. 
 Even the dread of a public scene with his wife, which had 
 kept him inactive all day, was conquered by the certainty of 
 unkind gossip and suspicion if she remained a night away 
 from his roof; and he gave orders to his one remaining 
 servant to get ready the brougham, hoping as he did so that 
 the man would not notice his blackened eye in the gloom of 
 the stable-yard, where he had gone to give his order. 
 
 When the brougham was ready and he was being driven 
 towards " The Barn," wild ideas came into his head of carrying 
 
330 A CELIBATE'S WIFE 
 
 his wife back by main force with him ; but for that, even if 
 Angela were alone at the cottage, he would be forced to take 
 his groom into his confidence, and the Rector shrank from 
 giving the least opening to publicity. He must content 
 himself with argument, and he prayed very fervently that 
 God would give him persuasiveness to conquer His hand- 
 maiden's stubbornness and rebeUion towards the husband into 
 whose charge He had given her. 
 
 On reaching the door of the Infidel's home he was annoyed 
 to find Dr. Cairn just coming out, and he would have passed 
 him without a word if the old man had not stopped him. 
 
 " I must congratulate you. Canon," he burst out energeti- 
 cally, " on having a wife like Mrs. Presyllett. I tell her that 
 the church would have a hundred times more influence than 
 it has if all our clergy had wives like her. It is not many 
 women who would have come at a moment's notice to nurse 
 an outsider like Lyne. And such a capital nurse too. A good 
 many men might wish they were in your shoes. Canon." 
 
 The clergyman answered abruptly, keeping his head down 
 so that the rim of his hat shadowed his face and concealed its 
 injuries. The unconscious irony of the congratulation cut 
 him, but it brought also a sense of welcome relief. So far, at 
 any rate, there appeared to have been no suspicion of scandal. 
 His wife's attendance on the injured Infidel had only been 
 taken as part of her well-known charitableness, and even 
 reflected some credit upon himself. The realisation calmed 
 him a little, but he was trembling with excitement to see 
 her, and learn how far his influence with her had really been 
 lost. A delicious hope had flashed into his mind that, 
 after all, her resistance might have been, as he had thought 
 at first, due only to the shock of maidenly instinct, and that 
 he might find her ready to repent of her unkindness and 
 violence. 
 
 He left the doctor talking, and hastened into the beauti- 
 fully furnished hall, to meet Mrs. Marlow, who was coming 
 from the kitchen with a pillow in her hand which she had 
 been airing for Angela's bed. 
 
 The taste displayed everywhere did not come as a shock to 
 him, as it had done to his wife on her first visit of conversion. 
 
A CELIBATE'S WIFE 331 
 
 The Infidel's wealth, education, and polish were all known to 
 him, and only increased his hatred of the man, since they 
 increased his power of undermining his own influence in the 
 parish. He barely glanced at the ferns and curios as he 
 advanced to the old housekeeper. 
 
 " I wish to see Mrs. Presyllett," he said peremptorily ; and 
 Mrs. Marlow dropped her pillow on the lowest stair, to smooth 
 her irreproachable apron before answering. 
 
 "I am sure she will be glad to see you, sir, after being 
 alone all day with nobody to speak to but me. I am sure 
 it was very good and kind of her to do so much for my poor 
 master ; not but that everybody has been very kind." 
 
 She was openmg the door of Gabriel's study as she spoke, 
 anxious to display the floral tributes to her master's heroism 
 spread out on the table. 
 
 " Everybody has been calling," she ran on proudly, with 
 a sweep of her plump hand towards the flowers and fruit. 
 " Those large grapes are from the Squire, and Captain Benson 
 sent that great bunch of lilies." 
 
 The Rector turned away impatiently. He had only looked 
 into the room in expectation of seeing his wife there, and the 
 sight of the flowers wounded him. A tribute to the Infidel 
 appeared to him a personal insult to himself, an irreligious 
 contempt of the doctrines he preached. 
 
 " But where is my wife ? " he said sharply ; and Mrs. Marlow 
 took up her aired pillow again. 
 
 " I will tell her that you are here, sir. I am sure I don't 
 know how we should have managed if she had not come so 
 kindly. I am not used to nursing myself, and somehow the 
 sight " 
 
 The Canon interrupted her. A fear was on him lest 
 Angela should refuse to see him, and he followed the 
 housekeeper up the stairs. 
 
 " I will not give Mrs. Presyllett the trouble of coming 
 down," he said, making an attempt to regain his calm pastoral 
 manner. 
 
 Mrs. Marlow turned undecidedly. 
 
 " The doctor says nobody is to go near the sick-room, sir. 
 But perhaps Mrs. Presyllett is in the next room, where she 
 
332 A CELIBATE'S WIFE 
 
 is going to sleep to-night. I am just making her a bed there. 
 She was having her tea there when I left her. But you must 
 speak low, please, for fear of disturbing the poor master. He 
 has been asleep all day, and Dr. Cairn says he must not 
 be waked on any account. He says the sleep will do him 
 more good than all the medicine in the world." 
 
 The Canon bit his thin loose lip, but did not answer. And 
 so his wife was intending to spend the night under this man's 
 roof. 
 
 As Mrs. Marlow had suggested, Angela was taking tea in 
 the room outside the sick-chamber. The place was almost 
 dark, but she had the meal laid close by the window instead 
 of having a lamp lighted. The mysterious dusk suited her 
 thoughts, and she did not want them disturbed. She rose 
 at the entrance of a visitor, and glanced towards the open 
 door dividing her from the sick-room. But when she recog- 
 nised the gaunt figure of the Canon in the gloom, she did not 
 close the door. She felt a sense of protection in the nearness 
 of Gabriel, even when he was ill and asleep. 
 
 The Canon stood waiting for the housekeeper's departure, 
 but Angela called her as she was leaving them. 
 
 " You need not go, Mrs. Marlow. Canon Presyllett cannot 
 have anything to say to me of a private nature, and the bed 
 wants arranging." 
 
 She was surprised that the man had the effrontery to meet 
 her, and was determined that he should see that argument 
 was out of question between them. 
 
 The Canon controlled himself with an effort, and turned 
 to the old lady with an attempted smile. 
 
 " Mrs. Presyllett is mistaken. Our talk will be quite 
 confidential." 
 
 He was holding the door open for her, and the good lady 
 was making a hurried flight without glancing at Angela, when 
 the girl called to her again — 
 
 "Perhaps you will wait outside then, Mrs. Marlow. I 
 shall want you directly." 
 
 She was telling herself that it would be better to have the 
 interview, on which the Canon seemed so determined, over 
 and done with. She would tell him in few words that any 
 
A CELIBATE'S WIFE 333 
 
 claim he might have had upon her owing to her promise, had 
 been forfeited by his conduct, and that henceforth she held 
 him a complete stranger. 
 
 The Canon waited until the door was closed behind the 
 wondering old lady, and then advanced to the window where 
 Angela's stately figure outlined itself against the light, holding 
 out his hand. 
 
 " Please stay where you are, Canon Presyllett, or I shall 
 have to call the housekeeper back," said Angela quietly ; and 
 he stopped abruptly. 
 
 " My dear child," he said, curbing his irritation to speak 
 in the pulpit tone, tempered by tenderness, which had become 
 now more loathsome to her than any other, "we cannot go 
 on like this. It will cause a public scandal." 
 
 " The scandal is of your making. It does not affect me." 
 
 " But it affects me, and it will affect yourself more than 
 you imagine if you persist in this sinful hostility to the 
 husband in whose charge God has placed you. For the 
 sake of your eternal welfare, as well as for your temporary 
 happiness, I must point out to you that your conduct will 
 prove disastrous if you continue it. At present nobody but 
 your aunts, who will remain silent in their love of you, have 
 gained the slightest suspicion that you have used personal 
 violence to me, the marks of which I carry on my face still, 
 that you have left my roof vowing never to return, that in 
 volunteering to nurse this man of sin you have thought to 
 place yourself under the protection of a lover. I besj and 
 plead with you that you will let me reason you into a calmer 
 frame of mind, a frame of mind in which you will realise the 
 heinousness of such actions, and long to return to the shelter 
 of my roof, and a place among the humble servants of our 
 Lord, which is still open to you. Will you not at least join 
 me in prayer that God may open your eyes to the true char- 
 acter of your offence ? " 
 
 He was ready to drop on his knees and avail himself of 
 the trick of argument which had always stood him in good 
 stead, but her cold quiet voice stopped him. 
 
 " Your blasphemy shocks me. Canon Presyllett, and only 
 makes me shudder to think that I could ever have taken you 
 
334 A CELIBATE'S WIFE 
 
 for a true servant of our Lord, or listened to a single word 
 of yours as inspired by Him." 
 
 It was as he had feared. His spiritual influence was lost, 
 and he tried to fall back on the girl's fear of scandal and 
 disgrace. 
 
 "You misjudge me cruelly, my child," he said. "I am 
 afraid that you have been very much influenced by this man 
 whom God has thought fit to lay low for his sins." 
 
 Her face flushed, but she controlled the impulse to say 
 that Gabriel had been laid low by his own act of splendid 
 Christ-like heroism. The man must know it. What was the 
 good of wasting words on such a creature ? 
 
 " But we must understand each other," he went on. " You 
 cannot forget that you are my wife, or ignore the opinion 
 which the world will form of your action if you leave my 
 roof." 
 
 Angela smiled. The opinion of the world! As though 
 that mattered, when her conscience directed her so clearly. 
 The opinion of the world, which made a fetish of the marriage 
 service, however it was accepted, and which would applaud her 
 no doubt if she gave herself up to this loathsome blasphemer, 
 the very sight of whom made her recoil ! The idea seemed 
 to her all part of that anti-Christian creed she had rejected, 
 the creed which worshipped forms and names, but never 
 Christ. 
 
 She had grown so certain that the old creed was wrong, 
 and the new one right, which made Gabriel and not the 
 Rector personify Christ for her, that she did not feel a single 
 qualm of fear or hesitation. 
 
 " We ought to understand one another, as you say. Canon 
 Presyllett," she answered, in her calm, clear voice. "The 
 position is very plain to me. For some reason you wished to 
 marry, and instead of selecting a woman who cared for you, 
 if such can exist, you took advantage of my foolish childish 
 notion that there was something wrong and sinful in ordinary 
 love and marriage, to make me go through the ceremony with 
 you under the idea that I was simply taking a vow against 
 marriage. I thought that we were to be married in the sight 
 of men, unmarried in the sight of God. That was our agree- 
 
A CELIBATE'S WIFE 335 
 
 ment. My faith in that agreement having placed me in your 
 power, you thought it time to declare my idea of the sinful- 
 ness of love and marriage erroneous, and actually think now 
 that the ceremony into which you enticed me by false pre- 
 tences will make me consider myself really your wife. You 
 seem to think that such a ceremony will make me consider 
 a union with a man I hate and despise more holy than a 
 real companionship with one I honour and love. The world 
 may consider it so, but a thousand worlds would not make me 
 think it. When your own enunciation assured me that my 
 heart and conscience were right in telling me that real love 
 is a God-given and holy emotion, I thought that my promise 
 to you might still compel me to keep to our agreement, and 
 appear to be your wife in the eyes of the world; but the 
 moment you broke our agreement by claiming a right to me 
 body and soul, I saw quite clearly that my only course was 
 to renounce the ceremony into which you entrapped me by 
 fraud and blasphemy, and declare myself no more your wife 
 in the eyes of the world than in the eyes of God. It is per- 
 fectly useless for you to try and persuade me that I am wrong, 
 and it can only be painful to us to see each other or speak 
 to each other again. I am surprised that you dared to do 
 so after revealing to me the wickedness and loathsomeness 
 of your character." 
 
 He had stood quite motionless while she spoke, warned by 
 the movement she made to call the housekeeper when he had 
 moved. Now her contempt stung him into fury, and he 
 reached her and seized her wrist. 
 
 " Godless woman," he said fiercely. " You know that it 
 is only your love for this cursed atheist which has changed 
 you." 
 
 " I do not deny it," she said, as quietly as before. " I 
 thank God that I have loved him, and learnt so much from 
 my love." 
 
 Then she raised her voice — 
 
 "Mrs. Marlow." 
 
 The housekeeper came in instantly with a lamp she had 
 been lighting outside in her hand, and behind her Squire 
 Gateacre. . 
 
336 A CELIBATE'S WIFE 
 
 The Canon stood blinking in the light, perfectly impotent. 
 Every argument had failed him, and the final one of brute 
 force which had suggested itself was rendered impossible by 
 the appearance of the Squire, who certainly would not stand 
 by and see the girl carried down to the brougham against 
 her will. 
 
 Mr. Gateacre stood looking curiously from husband to wife. 
 He must have gathered from his excited voice that they were 
 engaged in a dispute. 
 
 The overpowering dread of a scandal made the Rector 
 collect himself. 
 
 " Well, good-night, dear," he said to his wife. " I will call 
 again in the morning. You must think over what I have 
 said." 
 
 Then to the Squire — 
 
 " How do you do. Squire. I was just going. I have been 
 trying to persuade my wife that night-nursing will knock her 
 up, but she is self-willed as usual." 
 
 With a nod to Mrs. Marlow he was gone, grinding his 
 teeth at the thought of his impotence. 
 
 " And he is not ashamed to lie before me," said Angela 
 to herself, shocked by this final untruth, which to him was 
 too necessary to be considered. 
 
CHAPTER XXXVI 
 
 It was the third time in the day that the good-natured Squire 
 had called at " The Barn," and receiving no answer to his light 
 tap at the door, he had entered, to lose himself in the puzzle 
 of bedrooms, and be found by Mrs. Marlow just as he had 
 given the puzzle up. 
 
 " Well, and how is your patient getting on, Mrs. Presyllett ? " 
 he said, trying to sink his bluff voice a little, out of respect 
 to the imagined nearness of the sick man. 
 
 " Asleep still," said Angela. 
 
 " Then there won't be any harm in my having a look at 
 him," said the Squire, who was anxious to assure himself 
 beyond doubt that his friend was really as well as the doctor 
 made out ; but Angela shook her head like the good nurse 
 that she was. 
 
 " It is too dark for you to see him without a light, and the 
 lamp might wake him." 
 
 There was no arguing against her mandate, and Mr. Gate- 
 acre had to content himself with her confirmation of Dr. 
 Cairn's report. 
 
 "I should like to take back word to Rachel that he is 
 conscious," he said. " If you think that he will wake before 
 long, I will just smoke a pipe downstairs and wait for 
 news." 
 
 When he had gone, Angela, impatient of the delay which 
 had kept her from Gabriel's side, returned at once to the 
 sick-room. She bent over him to assure herself that he was 
 still asleep, and, deceived by his quietness, had gone across to 
 the fire, which was burning low, when the sound of his voice 
 made her start. 
 
 « Little Nun." 
 
 337 Y 
 
338 A CELIBATE'S WIFE 
 
 She was at his side in a moment. 
 
 "It is I — Angela Gaydon," she said, glad to shake^ofF 
 the last sign of her hated compact ^and resume her maiden 
 name. "You were hurt at the fire, and I have come to 
 nurse you." 
 
 " Then I have not been dreaming ? " he said, and his voice 
 assured her that he was perfectly conscious. "I almost 
 thought that the dream was too good to be real. Did I 
 hear Canon Presyllett speaking to you before the Squire 
 came ? " 
 
 His voice had a thrill of eagerness which made her heart 
 beat wildly. She was asking herself what he had heard, and 
 what he would think of it all. She strained her eyes to see 
 his face, but the darkness over his bed was too intense for her 
 to read his expression. The fire which she had just stirred 
 into flame cast a fitful glow on her own figure, but seemed 
 only to make the darkness more intense where he lay. 
 
 " Yes, Canon Presyllett has been here," she said, her voice 
 trembling a little. "I forgot to close the door. Did our 
 voices wake you ? " 
 
 "I think so, but I am glad if it did. What I heard 
 suggested a miracle, and I have been trying to realise it, 
 asking myself whether my longing has not made me dream. 
 Did I hear you say that your marriage was only a compact 
 entered into between you with an understanding that it should 
 not be a real marriage ? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 "Did I hear you admit that you cared for somebody 
 else?" 
 
 Her silence alone answered him. His uninjured hand was 
 seeking for hers, and he put it to his lips and kissed it. And 
 then, Angela did not know whether his hand had drawn her 
 down or whether the impulse was her own, but the next 
 moment her lips had met his in a long perfect kiss. 
 
 A new delicious rapture was in her heart, and still it seemed 
 the most natural thing that they should have kissed each 
 other, that his uninjured hand should be stroking her hair 
 as it gleamed in the firelight. To Gabriel, too, there seemed 
 no strangeness, although the reality of her love was so wonder- 
 
A CELIBATE'S WIFE 339 
 
 ful to him; his own sympathy had enabled him to see so 
 clearly its possibility ; the scene had been repeated so often 
 in his rebellious day-dreams. 
 
 " And now, little girl," he said, after a long, delicious pause 
 of perfect confidence and content, "you must tell me how 
 you learnt to care for me. It seems a miracle that I can 
 scarcely yet believe. I think I fell in love with you from the 
 first moment that we met that day in the Rectory garden. 
 Do you remember ? " 
 
 Angela did not answer. The instinct of the nurse con- 
 quered even her desire to do so, to hear him speak again. 
 
 " Dr. Cairn says that I am not to let you talk, dear. You 
 must not forget that you are very ill, and were quite delirious 
 twelve hours ago. You must lie quite still and try to go to 
 sleep again." 
 
 "Sleep? Not I, sweetheart. Every word you speak to 
 me helps to make me well. Tell me again that you really 
 love me. It seems too good to be true. You have seen so 
 Httle of me, and I was such a bear to you. You know, I 
 thought that you were really married to Presyllett. Even 
 then it was desperately hard to give up the thought of you, 
 for I knew that we were made for one another. We did not 
 need to fall in love, did we, Angela ? " 
 
 His low voice lingered tenderly over her name, and her 
 heart thrilled to hear it for the first time from his lips. 
 
 How sweetly strange it was, and yet how perfectly natural. 
 The only strangeness seemed to be that they could ever have 
 spoken together without this perfect confidence. All the 
 instinct of self-ownership and self-seclusion, which makes 
 women shy and half rebellious even when a stronger instinct 
 has made them bestow love and confidence on the man who 
 claims it, had been conquered and exhausted in her by her 
 long debates with herself. Before they had met here, she had 
 given herself heart and soul and body to her lover, and not 
 a single rebellious instinct remained to be conquered by his 
 wooing. 
 
 She answered him with a kiss, and then tried to speak 
 severely. 
 
 " I cannot let you talk, Gabriel. I want you to get better 
 
340 A CELIBATE'S WIFE 
 
 very quickly. There is so much help and advice that I want 
 you to give me, but I shall wait till you are quite strong and 
 Dr. Cairn has given you permission to talk." 
 
 " What a despot you are," he said with gentle playfulness. 
 " I am sure that I am quite well enough to talk as much as I 
 like. Talking is better than wondering, and there is so much 
 for me to wonder over. And won't you bring in a light, dear ? 
 I do want to look at my beautiful Nun, now that she belongs 
 to me." 
 
 " Why do you call me a Nun ? " she asked, pained by the 
 remembrance of her past unnaturalness. 
 
 " It was the name I gave you when I did not know any 
 other, that day I first met you in the Rectory garden. Don't 
 you like it ? " 
 
 " Only because you have given it to me. I was foolish to 
 try and please God by dressing oddly." How many con- 
 fessions and confidences they had to make to each other, as 
 they talked in the firelight, forgetting everything except that 
 they were together with no bar now to stand in the way of 
 their perfect understanding. 
 
 It was Angela who broke off suddenly, remembering the 
 doctor's written orders. 
 
 " You are making me forget all my duties. I have to 
 give you something to eat. Dr. Cairn will not trust me to 
 nurse you if I am so forgetful." 
 
 He caught her hand. 
 
 " You are not going away ? " 
 
 " I must tell Mrs. Marlow what to make. And the poor 
 Squire has been waiting a long time to hear that you are 
 conscious. I had quite forgotten him. He has been here 
 three times, and everybody has been very kind. Your study 
 is full of flowers and fruit they have brought you. You are 
 the hero of the hour, Gabriel." 
 
 " I am glad Gateacre is here. I have something to say to 
 him, if you will send him up." 
 
 " But you are not to talk." 
 
 " It will not take me many moments to say all I have to 
 say, and if I do not, the thought of it will keep me awake and 
 prevent me resting. I want to tell him why you have left the 
 
A CELIBATE'S WIFE 341 
 
 Rectory, if I may, and ask him to help me, while I am on my 
 back, to take care of you." 
 
 " I do not want anybody but you." 
 
 " But you do not mind my telling him what has happened, 
 dearest ? " 
 
 " I should be glad for everybody to know that I have ceased 
 to carry the name of that horrible man. But you must not 
 excite yourself talking, dear. For my sake you will act 
 sensibly." 
 
 Even the instinct of the nurse enabled her no longer to 
 maintain her peremptory tone towards her leader. She felt 
 as though he in his wisdom must know best even what was 
 right for his health, and when she had gone down to give her 
 orders for her invalid's repast, she rejoiced the anxious Squire 
 by telling him that Gabriel was awake, conscious and asking 
 for him. 
 
 Mr. Gateacre's face brightened, and he knocked the ashes 
 out of his pipe hurriedly in the empty grate of the study, where 
 he had been marching up and down smoking impatiently. 
 
 " Oh ! you need not be afraid, Mrs. Presyllett," he said in 
 answer to Angela's hesitating permission. " I shall not let 
 Lyne bother himself or talk much. I shall just cheer him up 
 by telling him what we all think of him, and that I have 
 decided to back him up over the Sunday opening question. 
 That will please him, and it's as little as I can do after the 
 noble way in which he has proved his character." 
 
 " I can only give you five minutes," said Angela, with the 
 calm imperativeness of the nurse; but the rosiness of her 
 cheeks, and the smile which came into her beautiful eyes at 
 the mention of Gabriel's heroism, made the Squire think her 
 more human and pleasing than ever. 
 
 " It is hard on Lyne," he said, as he stepped with attempted 
 lightness up the pretty staircase, and tried to remember the 
 clue to the bedroom puzzle. " I wonder whether I ought to 
 have let Rachel take her place, but it strikes me the young 
 lady would want some persuading before she would give up 
 her duties." 
 
 Gabriel had not expressed any wish to see the Squire alone, 
 but Angela shrank from hearing her foolish compact discussed 
 
342 A CELIBATE'S WIFE 
 
 before him, and had decided to leave the two men together. 
 Whatever revelation had to be made was in Gabriel's hands, 
 and she knew that she could leave it safely there. 
 
 When the Squire had left her for the interview she went into 
 the kitchen, to help Mrs. Marlow prepare the invalid's meal, 
 with a feeling almost of jealousy that her ignorance of domestic 
 matters would not enable her to do it all alone. The igno- 
 rance appeared to her for the first time as something lament- 
 able, something that made her worse than other women, and 
 she pleased the old housekeeper by taking a childlike interest 
 in the making of a rice pudding. 
 
 Meanwhile, the Squire, finding his way with some difficulty 
 to the still darkened sick-room, had been cheered by hearing 
 his friend's voice, sounding scarcely different from what it had 
 done when he was in full health. 
 
 " Here I am, Squire. You might bring a light in with you 
 from the other room, so that we can see each other. Thanks. 
 I have one hand for you, you see, although the other must be 
 considerably damaged, from the amount of padding on it — 
 and the feel. If it were not for that, I should be wanting to 
 get up." 
 
 He had been shaking the elder man's hand with his unin- 
 jured one as he spoke, and the two friends remained looking 
 at one another in the lamp-light. 
 
 " By Jove, you have had a narrow shave, Lyne," said the 
 Squire, looking with admiration at his scarred face and singed 
 hair. " Didn't it make you feel a bit nervous as to what 
 might come after death ? " 
 
 " No, I had not time to think about it. Getting to that 
 old woman took me all my time. How is she ? I haven't 
 heard anything yet." 
 
 Mr. Gateacre hesitated. 
 
 " If your nurse has not told you, perhaps I ought not to." 
 
 " Stuff," said Gabriel. " My nurse and I had something 
 Detter to talk about. The poor old woman is dead, then ? " 
 
 " Yes, but you did a plucky thing in trying to save her." 
 
 " Well, I should not like to think that nobody tried. What 
 happened ? The floor fell in, didn't it ? " 
 
 " The house, just as the firemen came. They fished you 
 
A CELIBATE'S WIFE 343 
 
 out of the ruins with the old woman still in your arms. But 
 they think she was suffocated before you reached her." 
 
 " And is my arm broken ? It feels as if it might be any- 
 thing." 
 
 "No, only burnt. You didn't break a limb. Miracle, 
 Cairn calls it. Everybody is very proud of you." 
 
 "And you have been calling three times. It is good of 
 you, Squire, and I am glad that you are here now, as I have 
 a favour to ask of you, and I don't expect Angela will give 
 me much time to say it in." 
 
 The Squire felt a momentary surprise at the use of the 
 Christian name, but the chance of doing a favour to the man 
 for whom he was dying to show his appreciation crowded it 
 into the background of his mind. 
 
 " Favour," he said. " I will do anything on earth for you, 
 Lyne, less than change my creed. I felt this morning ready 
 to do that, if I could make you better by doing it." 
 
 Gabriel smiled. The Squire's affection touched him. 
 
 "I am going to make almost as big a demand on your 
 trust in my opinions," he said more earnestly, " and I warn 
 you that you will find all your prejudices ranged against me. 
 I want you to help me in keeping Mrs. Presyllett, as she was 
 called, out of the Rector's way. I am laid on my back, or 
 I should not need anybody's help. As it is, I think that the 
 poor girl wants more protection than I can give her, and if 
 you can only see things in the right light, you are the one 
 man round that I could implicitly trust her to." 
 
 " But, my dear boy, they are man and wife," burst out the 
 Squire, forgetting all about his promise to Angela to keep calm. 
 " Whom God hath joined together, let no man put asunder." 
 
 "But God does not happen to have joined this couple 
 together," said Gabriel quietly. " You remember the idea of 
 the marriage which you suggested to me on the Barnwood 
 Road. I thought it was a mad idea on your part, but it was a 
 true one." 
 
 " Then I win my bet with Rachel," said the Squire, quite 
 enthusiastic over the confirmation of his opinion. " Did the 
 girl know what the idea of the marriage was ? " 
 
 " She would not have married him under any other condi- 
 
344 A CELIBATE'S WIFE 
 
 tion. She had some idea, poor girl, that love and marriage 
 were unholy, and went through the ceremony as a sort of 
 initial rite to making the Rectory a convent. It was fully 
 agreed between them before the ceremony that they were to 
 be married in the sight of men, unmarried in the sight of 
 God. The Canon, as you may guess, is wanting to break 
 the agreement, and Angela, now that her eyes are open, wants 
 to renounce the marriage altogether." 
 
 " And marry you ? " said the Squire abruptly. 
 
 Gabriel had raised himself on his free arm to speak better, 
 and he nodded assent. For Angela's kiss had meant to him 
 all that a good woman's kiss must mean. 
 
 " But she can't, man. Whatever they said to each other, 
 they were really married, and nothing can unmarry them." 
 
 "That is where we differ, and where I think that your 
 prejudice comes in," said Gabriel, trying to speak calmly, 
 but feeling hot and flushed. The knowledge that Angela 
 would certainly put an end to the interview if she saw him 
 so, made him more eager than ever to settle the matter before 
 she returned. " To me the ceremony is nothing. The pur- 
 pose for which it was entered into and the result are every- 
 thing. I am ready to admit that a real marriage cannot 
 be renounced. The children, or the chance of children, must 
 make it permanent, however foolishly it was entered into. 
 You will bear me witness. Squire, that I never entertained 
 the idea for a moment of stealing Presyllett's wife, when 
 I considered her really his wife. My concern for society 
 and for her prevented me. But to attack this" empty form 
 is to join with society in rejecting a fraud which has been 
 practised upon it. Presyllett has obtained its sanction to an 
 unnatural and undesirable partnership by pretending that the 
 partnership was one which society recognises. He has mis- 
 used the ceremony, and the ceremony becomes nothing. As 
 a civil contract, I do not think that the law will hold it bind- 
 ing. I want you to introduce Angela to a first-class solicitor, 
 to institute for her a suit for nullity of marriage, on the ground 
 that the contract was entered into for a purpose for which 
 it was never intended, and that the marriage has never been 
 and was never intended to be consummated. Will you do 
 
A CELIBATE'S WIFE 345' 
 
 this for me, and in the meanwhile consider the marriage as 
 under discussion, guarding Angela, if need be, from the Rector, 
 as from a man who possibly is not her husband in the sight 
 of the law ? " 
 
 The Squire was pushing his hand through his hair, in 
 troubled indecision. 
 
 " When you put it in that way, it seems nothing to promise," 
 he said ; " but it is the way you put it. Other people will say 
 that I am encouraging a woman to make light of the marriage 
 law, and defy the authority of the husband to whom she has 
 been joined by all the holy rites of the church. And that is 
 & thing I should not like to do." 
 
 " But the rites of the church are not holy if they are used 
 by a man to entrap a girl into a union she never meditates," 
 said Gabriel hotly, excited by the feeling that his strength was 
 oozing out before he had gained for Angela a champion. 
 " Take it as a legal question, Squire, and leave the marriage 
 as a thing not decided until the law has spoken." 
 
 " And suppose the law says that the marriage is binding ? " 
 
 " Then the law may go to the devil, and I shall trust my 
 opinion against that of the judge or jury who has tried the 
 case ; but that will be a matter for myself alone. By that time 
 I shall be myself again, and ask nobody to share my responsi- 
 bility. Promise me, Squire, that you will take my view of it 
 till then, and I can rest easy and give my mind to getting 
 well; but, by Jove, if I am chained here knowing that the 
 poor girl has not a single friend in the world, I shall drive 
 myself into a feVer with worry. I shall have to keep her here 
 under my eye, for fear that fiend of a parson gets hold of her ; 
 and you know how that would set people talking against her. 
 I can stand a good deal of talking against myself, but it would 
 be sure to hurt her, although she is so brave." 
 
 " Do you want me to take her home with me, then ? " 
 
 "That is the great favour I wanted to ask. I dare not 
 send her to her aunts if they would take her, because they are 
 completely under Presyllett's thumb." 
 
 " I don't know what Rachel would say.'* 
 
 ** Mrs. Gateacre has a heart, man. You could appeal to her 
 sympathies by telling her that Angela and I love each other 
 
346 A CELIBATE'S WIFE 
 
 as you two love each other. You can appeal to her respect for 
 the proprieties by threatening to drive my little girl back here 
 if she cannot give her a home. You can tell her that it is a 
 question that the law is to decide ; for the law is as sacred to 
 her as the marriage service, and she has no morbid admiration 
 for the Rector. I can trust Mrs. Gateacre, if you will only 
 show her the matter in its right light." 
 
 He had rested for a moment, in his excitement, on his burnt 
 arm, and the excruciating pain which shot through it made 
 him feel sick and dizzy, but he struggled against the weakness 
 which was overpowering him, and which threatened to end the 
 appeal before he had gained his point. 
 
 The struggle was a vain one, and he sank back fainting just 
 as Angela came in with a plate of the Squire's grapes in her 
 hand, and a bunch of flowers at her neck, which she had chosen 
 from the study table. She had been arranging her hair loosely 
 too at the glass there, so that its natural waywardness showed 
 itself. 
 
 The picture she made kneeling by his side with her beauti- 
 ful eyes full of tearful concern was a very beautiful one, as 
 Gabriel saw it when he recovered from his weakness. The 
 Squire had gone, despatched hurriedly for smelling-salts and 
 stimulants. 
 
 He came bustling back very much ashamed of himself; 
 and, awed by the sight of Angela's devotion as she knelt by 
 the bed with her soul in her eyes, he advanced to the table 
 on tiptoe, and turned to speak only as he reached the door. 
 
 " It is all right, Lyne. I will do everything you wish. I 
 will wait in the study till Mrs, Presyllett is ready." 
 
 " Miss Gaydon," corrected Gabriel, and held out his hand. 
 "Thank you, Squire. I thought you would be a friend in 
 need." 
 
 The Squire took it and wrung it silently, afraid to speak 
 after the practical warning he had received. 
 
 There were tears in his eyes as he stole out of the room 
 on tiptoe. 
 
 " I always said that they were made for one another. Lyne 
 must be right." 
 
 When he was gone, Angela knelt silently by his side, still 
 
A CELIBATE'S WIFE 347 
 
 wiping his forehead with her handkerchief steeped in eau de 
 Cologne. 
 
 Gabriel had closed his eyes with a sense of dreamy content, 
 and opened them again for the greater happiness of seeing her 
 beautiful face tender with solicitude for him, its wavy frame 
 of red-gold lit by the soft glow of the lamp. 
 
 " You are very very beautiful, darling," he said, with a sigh 
 of happiness ; and the sound of his voice loosened her lips. 
 
 " You are not going to send me away ? " she said pleadingly. 
 
 " Yes, dearest, till to-morrow. The Squire is going to give 
 you a bed at the Hall, and be your guardian while I am too 
 weak to defend you ; but to-morrow we shall have a whole day 
 together, and the next day and the next." 
 
 " But I do not want to leave you at all, loved one," she 
 said, stroking the singed hair back from his forehead tenderly. 
 " Mrs. Marlow has made up a bed for me in the next room, 
 and I do not want anybody to nurse you but myself." 
 
 He was about to make concern for her health an easy 
 excuse to satisfy her, when the thought of the perfect con- 
 fidence which was between them prevented even this slight 
 falsehood. 
 
 " It would not matter if we did not love each other, little 
 woman," he said, caressing her hair, "and if we were not 
 going to get married ; but we must make some concession to 
 the rules of etiquette for lovers." 
 
 " Etiquette," she repeated, with a surprise that was almost 
 scorn in her voice. 
 
 Gabriel smiled faintly. 
 
 "Yes, dear. Even the laws of etiquette register the 
 experience and opinion of a great many people. Even if 
 we know that the law is unnecessary for ourselves, that is 
 no excuse for breaking it, unless we feel that it is unnecessary 
 for other people. Nothing is more dangerous than to have 
 a law for ourselves and another for the rest of the world. The 
 rest of the world is right in resenting it, and their resentment 
 hurts unless we are supported by the knowledge that we have 
 gained it by upholding some grander principle than the world 
 has admitted." 
 
 His gentle slow-spoken words sounded like music in her 
 
348 A CELIBATE'S WIFE 
 
 ears, and the authority with which they were uttered, springing 
 from a mine of perfectly honest unselfish thought, gave her a 
 pleasant sense of help to come in all her mental difficulties. 
 She did not see clearly the bearing that they had upon the 
 question at issue. In his sensitive dread of contrasting too 
 roughly her perfect natural purity with the coarser proprieties 
 to which he was making her submit, he intentionally spoke 
 rather vaguely to satisfy her that he had a reason for his step 
 rather than to show clearly what his reason was. 
 
 He smiled again when he saw the look of instinctive 
 rebellion fade from her face. 
 
 "I have a great great deal to learn," she said humbly. 
 " Until I have learnt it, I will take your word in everything. 
 I will go with Squire Gateacre if you wish." 
 
 " That is right, little one. I will explain more clearly some 
 day why I wished it. What time is it ? " 
 
 She took her watch, the gold watch that had been her 
 mother's, from the bosom of her dress. 
 
 " Almost seven." 
 
 "And they retire early at the Hall. Well, we can have 
 two more delicious hours together, darling, and then you 
 must go. Will you tell the Squire that you will be ready at 
 nine, and ask Mrs. Marlow to lay supper for him in the 
 study ? Perhaps you will take it with him." 
 
 She shook her head, with tears in her eyes at the thought 
 of the coming parting. 
 
 " I could not waste any of my precious two hours." 
 
 She seemed reluctant even to leave him to carry down his 
 message, and was glad that Mrs. Marlow saved her from 
 doing so by bringing in the sick man's meal. 
 
 After it was done she seated herself by his side to push 
 back again the singed curls from his forehead, while he talked 
 — she could not keep him from talking, when he had so much 
 to say — in his low musical voice, about the future, trying to 
 make her see the necessity of the technical steps which they 
 must take to secure if possible the sanction of society to their 
 union. 
 
 "Of course, the decision of a possibly prejudiced judge 
 cannot make you married br unmarried, darling," he said in 
 
A CELIBATE'S WIFE 349 
 
 his tone of gentle persuasion ; " whatever the world says, we 
 know that we belong to one another and to nobody else. But 
 if we can get society to agree with us, it will save us " — he 
 thought only of her while he spoke — " from a certain amount 
 of martyrdom, and there is no virtue in martyrdom for its 
 own sake. An honest man or woman finds plenty that is 
 inevitable without taking that which is unnecessary. Besides, 
 no man can do a single action without affecting others. No 
 man can live for himself alone, and we must not let our 
 marriage persuade people that we think a real marriage ought 
 to be ignored." 
 
 Angela sat very silently, with many questions in her mind 
 that she would have asked had she not been afraid of making 
 him speak too much. The truths he taught were very new 
 to her, accustomed as she had been to deny the right of any 
 earthly opinion to come between her and the dictates of her 
 God as she drew them from the Bible or direct inspiration. 
 But even while her old creed protested, her faith in Gabriel 
 was stronger than her faith in any opinion she had ever held, 
 and she told herself that only her ignorance kept her yet 
 from seeing why Gabriel was right. The infallibility of his 
 judgments was a matter of faith, of religion with her. 
 
 He felt that he must warn her against the probable re- 
 ception which she would receive from Mrs. Gateacre. 
 
 ** I know that you are very brave, dear," he said gently. 
 " I want to appeal to your bravery against your pride. Until 
 we have asked society through the law to sanction your 
 abandonment of the nominal marriage to Presyllett, you will 
 find a little of that martyrdom I have spoken about. You 
 will find people thinking that you are doing very wrong. 
 The Squire was doubtful at first as to whether he was right 
 in helping us. Mrs. Gateacre has still to be persuaded, and 
 I want you for my sake, little woman, to put up with some 
 possible coldness from her. Remember that she knows very 
 little of what has happened. When she does understand I 
 know that she will give you a hearty welcome. I want you 
 to promise that you will be patient until then." 
 
 "I will do anything you wish, dear," said Angela quite 
 meekly. " I am sure that anything you direct must be right." 
 
350 A CELIBATE'S WIFE 
 
 He smiled at the imputation of his infaUibiUty. 
 
 "Be sure that it is the best that I can think, dear, 
 although of course it may be all wrong." 
 
 " It is nine o'clock," said Angela, drawing in her breath. 
 
 "So soon. Then it must be 'Good-night,' darling — till 
 to-morrow." 
 
 " Good-night, dear love." 
 
 Her arm was round his neck. Her lips met his again in 
 a long passionate kiss. When she had torn herself away, 
 her eyes were full of the tears which she could no longer 
 restrain. 
 
CHAPTER XXXVII 
 
 Village rumour was not long in noticing, and trying, with 
 that licence which want of information gives to the imagi- 
 nation, to explain the fact of Angela's continued absence 
 from the Rectory. 
 
 What was actually known was that the Rector's wife spent 
 her days nursing the hero of the hour, the Infidel of Windle- 
 hurst ; that the rest of her time was spent at the Hall, which 
 she left early every morning for " The Barn," returning late 
 every evening in the Squire's brougham. The passage of the 
 closed carriage through the village street had become an event 
 to look for and watch with bated breath, as part of a domestic 
 drama. 
 
 What was generally believed, and therefore confidently 
 stated, was that Mrs. Presyllett, with that independence of 
 her husband's authority which the Canon had admitted in 
 apologising to his wealthier parishioners for her evangelical 
 zeal, had decided to nurse and convert the Infidel in flat 
 contradiction to Canon Presyllett's will ; that there had been 
 a stormy scene between the two, which ended in the Rector 
 declaring that, if Mrs. Presyllett did not give up the nursing 
 at once, she should never come back to the Rectory at all. 
 
 Accepting this as the true explanation of the mystery of 
 the Rectory, as they began to call it in Windlehurst, public 
 opinion inclined very much to the side of the wife. Even 
 those good men who shook their heads most disapprovingly 
 over her want of submission to the authority of her husband, 
 admitted that the Rector appeared to be acting rather harshly. 
 The reaction in favour of Gabriel, whose heroism had made 
 it possible to suggest even in the politest and most respectable 
 society that his works had a high moral tone, that his life 
 
 351 
 
352 A CELIBATE'S WIFE 
 
 appeared to be blameless and his charity remarkable, helped 
 to make local opinion run in favour of the woman who had 
 decided to nurse him, rather than of the man who wanted him 
 left alone. 
 
 It was perhaps this reaction which, together with the 
 countenance given to Mrs. Presyllett by the Squire and his 
 wife, prevented a word of scandal being suggested against 
 the Infidel and his devoted nurse. Perhaps the miracle — 
 for it is a miracle in a little country society to find an opening 
 for scandal, however small, which is not taken advantage of 
 — needed also for its explanation the reputation of being 
 something colder than humanity which had attached itself 
 to the devout wife of the Rector. 
 
 Whatever the cause, Angela had become somewhat of a 
 heroine, whose independence was certainly deplored in many 
 quarters, but against whose fair name not even a good woman 
 suggested a suspicion. 
 
 The Rector had helped to divert sympathy from himself 
 by disappearing. The groom had been sent away, on the 
 night following the fire, for a holiday he did not want ; and 
 when, on the Sunday, the " Mystery " attracted to the church 
 a larger congregation than had attended it since the sensational 
 mission services, the good people found their eagerness to 
 gaze on the hero of a domestic drama disappointed, and got 
 only the dullest of sermons from a stranger, and the know- 
 ledge that they had put another church attendance to their 
 credit with God, to reward them for their trouble. The 
 Rector did not appear morning or evening. When the most 
 inquisitive of the flock called at the Rectory, to find the blinds 
 down and their ring at the bell disregarded, it became an 
 accepted fact that the good man had gone away, although 
 nobody had noticed the departure. The rumour that his 
 gaunt figure had been seen after nightfall lurking in the 
 darkness of the Hartle lane, being a true one, was rejected 
 by common consent as fiction, but repeated nevertheless as 
 an interesting feat of imagination on the part of its originator. 
 
 The interest which was taken in the dramatis personce of 
 the " Mystery," robbed of satisfaction by the non-appearance of 
 the Rector and the isolation of Angela at " The Barn," where 
 
A CELIBATE'S WIFE 353 
 
 she never showed herself to the fresh numbers who called to 
 inquire after her patient in the hope of seeing her, raised 
 even the heroine's aunts to a position of importance; and 
 the fact that the little Tomtits had cut the Squire and his 
 wife dead on the Barnwood Road was reported everywhere 
 as an event. It was evident that they were not on the side 
 of their niece, a fact which they emphasised by refusing to 
 discuss her. 
 
 The little old maids had passed through a period of almost 
 overwhelming mental activity. After leaving the abandoned 
 Rector with many expressions of sympathy on the morning of 
 the fire, they had spent the rest of the day agreeing with one 
 another that they could not possibly give the revolted wife 
 a home with them, only to be piqued at the end of it by find- 
 ing that Angela had no intention of asking them to do so. 
 Susannah brought in word that she had been seen driving to 
 the Hall with the Squire. 
 
 They were very indignant at the news, which robbed them 
 of the "unhappy duty," as they called it to each other, of 
 maintaining the sacredness of marriage in spite of their affec- 
 tion for their niece. Prudence had prepared and elaborated 
 the speech with which she would meet Angela at the door, and 
 Iphigenia's face had been stern all day in unconscious rehearsal 
 of the promised scene. And now all their enthusiasm for the 
 holy state of matrimony and its duties was thrown away. 
 
 " Angela does not appear to have any idea of what is due 
 to her relatives," said Prudence severely. 
 
 " She does not seem to have any human affection at all," 
 chirped in her sister. 
 
 " She is ready to take the protection of any stranger rather 
 than that of her father's sisters," went on Prudence, waiving 
 the fact that they had decided to refuse her admittance. " I 
 suppose our home is too humble for her." 
 
 The next morning another question had arisen for their 
 discussion. Iphigenia came down to breakfast with a face 
 full of thought. 
 
 " I have not been able to sleep," she explained in answer 
 to her sister's solicitude, " for thinking of poor Adrian left all 
 alone in his big cheerless house without a single servant to 
 
 z 
 
354 A CELIBATE'S WIFE 
 
 wait on him, and deserted by the wife who ought to attend to 
 all his needs." 
 
 " I have been thinking of him too, and I really do not see 
 why we shouldn't," said Prudence, whose knowledge of her 
 sister made words almost unnecessary between them. " Of 
 course we should both have to go. People are so talkative 
 that I should scarcely like to go alone, even though he is a 
 married man and our own nephew — by marriage. But if we 
 both went ? " 
 
 " And I really think that we might trust Susannah to mind 
 the house while we are away," added Iphigenia. " Of course 
 we should be home every evening." 
 
 " Of course," said Prudence, who had noticed a suspicion 
 of indecision in her sister's voice over the last proposition, 
 and added emphasis to her own in consequence. " Of course, 
 while his wife is away. After supper he could not require 
 anything." 
 
 "And, of course, Angela will be back in a few days," said 
 Iphigenia confidently. The continued estrangement of hus- 
 band and wife was too terrible a thing to be dreamed of by 
 either of them. 
 
 In spite of their complete and unusual agreement on the 
 subject, the question of taking under their charge a man whose 
 wife had temporarily abandoned him was far too serious a one 
 to be settled summarily, and for some hours every side and 
 bypath of it was discussed in awed tones, until at noon the 
 thought of the poor Rector preparing his own lunch made 
 tender sympathy crowd out every microscopic scruple of pro- 
 priety (which the old maids saw through the microscope), and 
 they set out together, carrying in turn a basket in which they 
 had packed a cold fowl and other delicacies, in case Angela 
 had been cruel enough to leave her lord and master without 
 supplies. 
 
 Near the church they came in sight of Dr. Cairn walking 
 briskly out of the lane, and curiosity to hear the latest news 
 of Angela conquered their desire to show a haughty cold- 
 ness to the man who had encouraged her in disobeying her 
 husband's will. With one wavering accord they waited for 
 the automatic figure to reach them. 
 
A CELIBATE'S WIFE 355 
 
 " Morning, ladies," said the doctor, jerking off his hat, and 
 too full of enthusiasm to notice the reserve which the little 
 Tomtits were studying to display as a compromise with their 
 consciences. " You will be glad to hear that our hero is going 
 on splendidly. Wonderful constitution, and one that he has 
 taken good care of. If it were not for the arm, there would 
 be very little the matter with him to-day." 
 
 The old maids' faces showed no relief at the intelligence. 
 
 "Splendid nurse, your niece," he went on energetically. 
 " I could not have picked on a better." 
 
 " I hope Mrs. Presyllett is quite well," said Prudence, 
 anxious to discover how far Angela had made public her 
 extraordinary prejudice against her husband. "When we 
 met you last, she appeared to be, from mental suffering, in a 
 state of excitement which made her scarcely seem responsible 
 to us for her words. Did anything in her manner suggest 
 to you that — well, we are becoming quite anxious about 
 her." 
 
 " Oh 1 I do not think that you have the least need. Miss 
 Gaydon. If anybody is responsible for her actions, and knows 
 exactly what she is doing, I think it is your niece. You know, 
 of course, that she is bringing an action at law to get her 
 marriage with Presyllett annulled ? " 
 
 The old maids gave a simultaneous cry. 
 
 " Her marriage annulled ! " repeated Prudence. 
 
 " An action at law !" said Iphigenia. 
 
 The doctor's keen good-humoured eyes twinkled with enjoy- 
 ment of their horror. 
 
 " It is a shocking affair, isn't it ? " 
 
 " It is disgraceful. It is incredible! " cried Prudence, putting 
 down the basket, to be ready with her smelling-salts if she found 
 herself fainting. 
 
 " Shocking is not the word for it," chirped in Iphigenia , 
 and the doctor nodded vigorously, with the twinkle still in 
 his eye. 
 
 " Exactly what I think, ladies. In my opinion the Rector 
 ought to be horse-whipped. The man who could seduce — 
 yes, ladies, seduce a young and perfectly innocent girl into 
 a marriage of this description by working upon her childish 
 
356 A CELIBATE'S WIFE 
 
 religious fanaticism, may be a clergyman of the Church of 
 England, but he is a rascal for all that, and I don't mind who 
 hears me say it." 
 
 " I really don't understand what you can mean," said both 
 ladies together, as the doctor paused for breath after his 
 energetic denunciation of the man they admired. 
 
 " I am glad to hear it," said the doctor, starting off again 
 as furiously as before. " I felt sure that you would never have 
 allowed your niece to be drawn into such a ridiculous unnatural 
 Romish piece of nonsense. I am very glad to hear that it 
 is as much news to you as it was to me. I hold that your 
 niece is doing a plucky thing in letting everybody know it, 
 and bringing this suit. I should have advised the same thing 
 exactly. It is just what men like Presyllett need, to be shown 
 up in a law court, and I hope to goodness she will win her 
 case. If there is any sense in the law of the land she will, 
 and find herself free to marry a better man than the Rector, in 
 a proper way. But I must not keep you standing in the cold, 
 ladies. I will bid you good-morning." 
 
 And before the astonished Tomtits could draw in their 
 breath to ask a single question, the automatic figure had jerked 
 off its hat again and was steaming at full speed in the direction 
 of the village. 
 
 Iphigenia was the first to recover herself. 
 
 " Goodness gracious, sister, what can he mean ? " 
 
 " I am sure that I do not know," said Miss Prudence, her 
 voice trembUng with indignation, " but of this I am quite sure, 
 that the dear Canon could not act dishonourably, and that he 
 would not think of contracting with our niece any marriage 
 that was not honourable and binding. That terrible girl must 
 have been spreading some false and shocking libel against 
 him ; although I must say that I am surprised at a man of 
 Dr. Cairn's sense believing a word from her, especially in the 
 excited state in which we found her." 
 
 " Dr. Cairn has always been prejudiced against the 
 Rector," said Iphigenia, "and that man Lyne influences 
 everybody against him. It is very terrible to think of poor 
 Angela being in such company. I hear that the Squire him- 
 self has become almost an atheist through knowing him, and 
 
A CELIBATE'S WIFE 357 
 
 told Captain Benson that a talk with Lyne did him more 
 good than one of the dear Canon's sermons." 
 
 "Well, nothing shall make me disbelieve in the Canon," 
 said Prudence stoutly. 
 
 "Nor me," said Iphigenia, ashamed of the slight doubts 
 of her Rector which had been forced into her mind by the 
 doctor's energy. " But do you think that there is any chance 
 of the marriage being annulled? That means that Angela 
 and the Canon would not really be married, doesn't it ? " 
 
 " Yes. What preposterous rubbish ! " 
 
 "And we should not be any relation to him," pursued 
 Iphigenia. 
 
 The little old maids looked at one another with startled 
 bird-like eyes, and then, without a word. Prudence took up 
 her basket, and they turned with one accord homewards. 
 
 "I wonder what falsehood Angela has really told," said 
 Iphigenia thoughtfully as they walked; and Prudence tried 
 to blush as she answered gravely — 
 
 " A terrible suspicion has occurred to me, I should never 
 be happy again if I found that it was true, and that I had 
 been the real cause of this terrible affair." 
 
 " You ! " exclaimed her sister, with eyes rounder than ever. 
 
 " Yes, I," repeated Miss Gay don solemnly. "It would be 
 very terrible, but really, when we come to think of it all, it 
 seems possible. You remember the confidence that I made 
 to you just before this shocking estrangement took place. 
 Well, I feel more persuaded than ever that I was right, and 
 that Angela's marriage was the result of a mistake. If it 
 were so, and if in an unfortunate moment the dear Canon 
 admitted the fact, in a moment of irritation perhaps — for I 
 am sure that Angela could irritate the very best of men — 
 think what the consequence would be, remembering Angela's 
 overwhelming pride. I can imagine her acting exactly as 
 she has done. Don't you remember her saying, when she 
 was so hysterical yesterday morning, that she was not really 
 the Rector's wife ? And then — I do not know whether you 
 noticed it — but she appeared to have a sort of aversion to 
 me. It was you that she spoke to most." 
 
 Iphigenia had indeed noticed it 
 
358 A CELIBATE'S WIFE 
 
 "And you think that she is trying to get the marriage 
 annulled because of it ? " said Iphigenia in awe-struck tones. 
 
 "I think nothing. I simply suggest it as a complete 
 explanation of her mysterious conduct." 
 
 Iphigenia was bound to struggle against a theory which 
 gave her sister a love-story more than herself. 
 
 " But it does not explain why Dr. Cairn spoke so strongly," 
 she suggested argumentatively ; and Prudence was ready with 
 an answer. 
 
 " I do not expect that Angela would tell him the whole 
 story. She would only say that Adrian " — she lingered over 
 the name fondly — " had married her without caring for her." 
 
 Iphigenia was feeling convinced against her will, and was 
 struggling to think of fresh refutation, when a happy idea 
 occurred to her. 
 
 " Perhaps you are right, dear ; if so, I hope that it will all 
 come right, although I cannot see how it can unless Angela 
 dies. The shock of losing the supposed love of a man like 
 Adrian must be very great to her, and might affect her health. 
 If anything like that does happen, I hope that you won't let 
 the remembrance of Geoffrey Dale stand in your way, and 
 prevent your caring for the poor Rector. I have never told 
 you in all these years, but I really don't think that poor 
 Geoffrey cared for you any more than for me." 
 
 She was alarmed by her boldness and cruelty when she 
 saw the look of pain and sorrow that came into her sister's 
 face. Geoffrey Dale was the old-time lover who had died the 
 day before he proposed. 
 
 The next question which came to strain the little old 
 maids' thinking powers was suggested by the tenderer-hearted 
 Iphigenia. 
 
 " Don't you think that we ought to see Angela and use 
 our influence with her to make her act more discreetly ? " 
 she asked suddenly over tea the same evening ; and the debate 
 thus started lasted long after the opportunity for action was 
 past, and the question had become, not what they ought to 
 do, but what they ought to have done. 
 
 On one side they were swayed by a curiosity to know what 
 Angela's allegations against her husband really were — curiosity 
 
A CELIBATE'S WIFE 359 
 
 which was tempered on Prudence's part by a fear that her 
 theory might be demolished. On the other side was an 
 injured sense of dignity which forbade them to show any 
 interest in the girl who had chosen to accept the shelter of 
 the Squire's home rather than sue for that of their own, 
 which they would not have given her. Above all, an over- 
 powering dread of associating themselves more than was 
 absolutely necessary with the relative who seemed bound to 
 taint them with the scandal which it was the business of 
 their lives to avoid. The nominal object of the suggested 
 visit, that of averting by their influence the scandal altogether, 
 did not actually weigh with them at all, because each knew 
 perfectly that her influence with her niece was nothing at all. 
 And still they talked about it gravely for hours. It was the 
 dread lest their visit to the Infidel's cottage might be con- 
 strued into encouragement of their niece's actions which made 
 the whole matter talk and prevented them acting. 
 
 " Perhaps," as Iphigenia said a hundred times, and each 
 time as if the idea were a new and starthng one — " perhaps 
 the Canon might hear of it, and think that we were siding 
 against him." 
 
 The fidelity with which they clung to their Rector, rather 
 than to the niece with whom neither had felt any real 
 sympathy, showed itself when at night a village lad brought 
 them a letter from Angela, which Gabriel had inspired, and 
 which had been penned at " The Barn." The gum was still 
 wet, and the envelope opened without tearing. The note itself 
 seemed a hurriedly written one. Angela informed them 
 briefly that she was bringing an action at law to have the 
 marriage with Canon Presyllett annulled; that in the mean- 
 while she thought it safer, in case Canon Presyllett should 
 annoy her, to accept the kindly given hospitality of the Squire 
 rather than that of her aunts, and regretted that the duty of 
 nursing Mr. Lyne left her too little time to see them for the 
 present. 
 
 " I am glad that Angela has some sense of what is due to 
 us," said Iphigenia, as she read the hurried scrawl over her 
 sister's shoulder. " We might call now and see really why 
 she is acting like this." 
 
366 A CELIBATE'S WIFE 
 
 Prudence turned upon her contemptuously. 
 
 ** Call upon the woman who is determined to disgrace us, 
 who talks about her husband annoying her, when that husband 
 is such a man as our dear Rector, too ! Iphigenia, I am 
 surprised at you." 
 
 " Then what shall you do ? " asked Iphigenia timidly ; and 
 her sister put back the note in the envelope. 
 
 " I shall return this preposterous letter unopened^ addressing 
 it to the house where our niece — if we must still call her our 
 niece — ought to be." 
 
 " The Rectory ? But she will not see it." 
 
 "No," said Prudence, with a gleam of satisfaction in her 
 eye, "but the Rector will, and will understand what our 
 feehngs are in the case." 
 
CHAPTER XXXVIII 
 
 The few days which her aunts found so full of mental activity 
 were to Angela the happiest that she had ever known. 
 
 Mrs. Gateacre had justified Gabriel's faith in her by receiv- 
 ing her into her home with more readiness than her husband 
 had expected. The knowledge that the question of her marriage 
 was to be submitted to the law was quite sufficient to make 
 her take the revolted wife under her wing ; and the fact that 
 she was pleasing Gabriel by doing so filled her with enthusiasm 
 for the office. With her openly avowed reverence for custom, 
 she left the decision of the question at stake confidently to the 
 judges who decide what custom commands in uncustomary 
 cases. If the law said Angela was married, she was married ; 
 if the law said she was unmarried, she was unmarried ; and 
 while the law was deciding, she had a right to take the ques- 
 tion as unsettled, and look upon Gabriel's prot^g^e not as a 
 runaway wife, but as a girl who was very possibly unmarried 
 and independent. At the same time, she made no secret of 
 the fact that, if the nullity suit failed, she could countenance 
 nothing but the girl's return to her legal husband. Mr. Gate- 
 acre had not thought it prudent to tell her what Gabriel's 
 plans were, in case the judges decided against him ; and both 
 he and his wife looked forward to the trial \\ith much more 
 excitement than the girl herself, whose fate would be so much 
 affected by it. 
 
 Angela could not look upon the inevitable trial in a personal 
 light at all. Gabriel had let her see that the result would not 
 affect one iota the fact that they belonged to one another, and 
 it was to Angela at best an unpleasant service which she was 
 performing for the good of society, because Gabriel had told 
 her that society needed it. Accustomed as she had been all 
 
 361 
 
362 A CELIBATE'S WIFE 
 
 her life to ride rough- shod over popular ideas and prejudices 
 at the dictates of conscience, making light of every custom, 
 every usefulness which did not commend itself to her as dic- 
 tated by her infallible creed, it was difficult for her to work 
 up at once the enthusiasm which Gabriel felt for the worldly 
 convenience and earthly happiness of his fellow-men ; and she 
 chafed a little at the idea that they must delay their complete 
 companionship, the companionship which would keep her 
 always with him, out of deference to a worldly opinion, and 
 an idea of expediency which she had always despised. Expedi- 
 ency and any opinion founded upon it had been to her always 
 the voice of the world contending against the word of God ; 
 and the ridicule, anger, or remonstrance she met with in 
 refusing to listen to it, had furnished her with the materials 
 for that martyrdom which was necessary to her to make her 
 life in some way a counterpart of Christ's. The anger of 
 Mrs. Gateacre when she had reasoned with her about her 
 finery stood for the anger of the Pharisees when her Model 
 upbraided them for their hypocrisy. 
 
 It necessarily took time, even after her mental acceptance 
 of the fact, for her to feel that the natural distaste to the anger 
 of others, like the natural distaste to burning one's fingers, 
 was all part of the Divine leading of the Mind which created 
 our natures and fire and anger. It was a creed which, with 
 her logical mind, she was bound to accept when her very nature 
 had made her accept as a Divine leading the perfect love she 
 felt for Gabriel. 
 
 To deny the holiness of that love, that complete trust in 
 him which had shown her vividly the egotism and unhealthiness 
 of her past life, culminating in her deceptive alliance with the 
 Canon, was as impossible to her as to deny the holiness of her 
 love for Christ. 
 
 The holiness of her love made holy every expression of 
 it. Certain as she was that the complete confidence between 
 herself and Gabriel was a right thing, it was impossible for 
 her to imagine that any result or expression of it should 
 be wrong. That public opinion or the law should decide 
 how far she should show her complete sympathy and love 
 of Gabriel, allowing her to nurse him by day, but making 
 
A CELIBATE'S WIFE 363 
 
 her leave him at night, and so on, appeared to her incon- 
 gruous and coarse. 
 
 The respect which the ordinary girl feels for the ceremony 
 of marriage had been killed in her utterly by her experience. 
 If the ceremony had any of that purifying virtue which hundreds 
 of girls must surely ascribe to it to justify themselves when 
 they form a loveless union for wealth or position, it must needs 
 make pure for Angela a union which she could not help feeling 
 would be the most horrible and degrading which it was possible 
 for her to imagine. As it was impossible for her to feel that 
 her marriage with Presyllett could take the least tinge of holi- 
 ness or Tightness or cleanness from the fact that they had gone 
 through the ceremony together, she was forced to see that the 
 ceremony could not add any tinge of holiness to her lifelong 
 companionship with Gabriel, or to the bearing of children for 
 him, and the other vague duties that Ufelong companionship 
 would mean to her. 
 
 To live with a man she loved, and submit her will and 
 judgment to his because she felt that he was wiser and better, 
 more Christ-like than she was, was pure and pleasing to God. 
 To live with a man she despised and hated, and submit herself 
 to him because they had decided to call themselves man and 
 wife, was impure and degrading. 
 
 The ceremony of marriage seemed to her only a Presyllett- 
 like device of blasphemous casuistry, intended to blind the eyes 
 of men and women to these two essential facts. 
 
 It was a dangerous view of marriage no doubt for a girl to 
 hold, and made much depend upon the degree with which the 
 man she loved deserved the confidence she gave him. 
 
 But it prevented her feeling a moment's uneasiness about 
 the legal difficulty into which she had allowed herself to be 
 drawn, and to the solution of which the Squire and his wife 
 looked forward with such excitement. 
 
 Angela only awaited with a calm happy expectancy the 
 time when Gabriel's half-understood scruples would be satisfied, 
 and the glorious days she spent with him be no longer clouded 
 by the pain of the nightly parting. 
 
 And even now the pain of parting was brightened by 
 the thought of the morning's reunion. And each happy 
 
364 A CELIBATE'S WIFE 
 
 reunion heralded a day more happy than any she had ever 
 known. 
 
 In the old time she had told herself that she was very very 
 happy. The sense of being holier than other people had been 
 enjoyable. The feeUng that she had a distinct mission, and 
 was obeying it to the best of her ability, had filled her hfe, and 
 made it more than worth living. And there had been very 
 often moments of delicious emotion when she reaHsed very 
 vividly the reality and nearness of Christ, when she could 
 see His smile and hear His Divine voice commending and 
 encouraging her in her warfare for Him, when she could catch 
 glimpses of the Paradise He had prepared for her reward, 
 where she could be ever with Him. 
 
 But these sublime visions did not come in their perfection 
 every day. She had found out, and hated herself for the 
 impious knowledge, even before meeting Gabriel, that they 
 owed a great deal to her state of health, even to the food she 
 had eaten ; that the mental effort which produced them ex- 
 hausted her and caused them always to be followed by a re- 
 action, which made the world more real than the promised 
 Paradise, and the petty discomforts of it stronger than the 
 smile of her Lord in affecting her spirits. 
 
 It was Gabriel who found for her the leading of the Creator 
 even in the reaction, telling her that He has made other happi- 
 ness for His creatures than that obtained by cultivating one 
 department of the mind to the discredit of the other God- 
 given departments ; that holiness is wholeness, and the recipe 
 for goodness the same as the recipe for happiness — to employ 
 every force that the Creator has given us, physical, mental, 
 and moral, in that balanced proportion which prevents the 
 exercise of any one force being gained at the expense of 
 another. He preached to her the strange gospel of earthly 
 happiness, and Angela, in spite of its strangeness, was unpre- 
 judiced enough to see that it was the only gospel which can 
 really exist with an actual belief in the Creator of everything 
 as a God of Love. 
 
 The idea that man was placed on the earth to be happy there, 
 rather than to deny himself every pleasure in order to be happy 
 after he was dead, appealed to Angela the more because she 
 
A CELIBATE'S WIFE 365 
 
 was experiencing more happiness than she had been able to 
 imagine herself enjoying in heaven. It was not only that 
 a perfect requited love made her daily companionship with 
 Gabriel a dream of delight. All her emotions and thoughts 
 had been unchained, and she was luxuriating in their freedom. 
 She was like a child escaping from the beautiful but awe- 
 inspiring and repressive half-lights of a cathedral to romp 
 in the sunlit fields, running from flower to flower without 
 restraint. 
 
 She took a girlish delight in making herself look her best 
 for her lover's eyes, lamenting that she had no dress but the 
 one austere one in which she had escaped from the Rectory, 
 and delighting Mrs. Gateacre by commissioning her to buy 
 the prettiest laces and trinkets she could for her in Barnwood. 
 Mrs. Gateacre had quite fallen under the spell of this new 
 natural woman, whom it was difficult for her to identify with 
 the prim young saint who had lectured her on her Sunday 
 finery. Angela herself laughed at the remembrance of the 
 scene, and was full of pretty apologies for her priggishness. 
 It seemed a dead self that she was apologising for, a hard- 
 skinned chrysalis from whose husk she had emerged with the 
 sensitiveness and life-joy of a butterfly. 
 
 She luxuriated in her new freedom of thought. She was 
 keenly logical for a girl. It was her logic which had made 
 her a fanatic in the old days, as the usual creed of Christendom 
 must make every honest and logical person fanatical. 
 
 In the old days she had found her logic very much re- 
 stricted. Her mind had to travel along a beaten road with 
 the notice board, " Dangerous. This channel of thought 
 leads to Hell," at the entrance of every bypath. 
 
 But now every thought was free. Gabriel had shown her 
 that, by associating free-thought with ungodliness, Christianity 
 had labelled itself atheistical. "Think freely, and you will 
 find there is no God," it had said, and would not admit that 
 if God is the Creator of everything, everything must teach us 
 about Him. 
 
 The strangest thing about it all was that every word he 
 spoke seemed to express a thought of her own, that she had 
 thought without knowing it. All the ideas that had been 
 
366 A CELIBATE'S WIFE 
 
 repressed as wrong were ready to rise and fill her mind the 
 instant that the dead weight of her old creed was lifted, and 
 she recognised every one of them in Gabriel's creed, no longer 
 byways leading to hell, but all showing at their end the God 
 who is everywhere. 
 
 Not that her religion became identical with Gabriel's. 
 Religion as he understood it was identical with his character, 
 a logical explanation of every motive and action, the tracing 
 of it to his conception of the Creator. Religions like this 
 must vary as characters vary, and similar as were the char- 
 acters of Gabriel and Angela, there were of course a hundred 
 points of difference between them. 
 
 Not that the differences mattered greatly to either of them. 
 It is only when one belief is right and all the others neces- 
 sarily wrong that discussion becomes embittered. And Angela 
 had given up readily the idea that the Creator of everything 
 has percolated through a hundred questionable channels one 
 view of Himself and His pleasure, which must be accepted 
 whether the honest and unselfish mind realises its truth or 
 not. As a rule, when Gabriel differed from herself, as in his 
 consideration for public opinion, she took it for granted that 
 he knew better than she did, as he in his love and admira- 
 tion of her took it for granted that many of her ideas of duty 
 were truer and holier than his own. They both expected to 
 learn from each other. On other points he recognised in 
 her ideas those which he had held himself at an earlier stage 
 of his own development, and he was content to wait for her 
 honest thought to show her a wider, truer view. He was 
 anxious that she should not struggle to hold any view that 
 he did, simply because he held it. 
 
 " Many men who are probably wiser and better than I 
 think differently from me, httle woman," he would say ; and, 
 when he had failed to convince her by telling her what made 
 him think what he did, would soothe away her momentary 
 distress at the fact that they differed. 
 
 They talked a great deal together, for after the first day's 
 illness Dr. Cairn had said that his invalid might talk as much 
 as he liked if he did not excite or fatigue himself, and Angela's 
 readiness to agree with him on almost every subject on which 
 
A CELIBATE'S WIFE 367 
 
 they touched made their conversations only exhilarating to him. 
 The presence of the woman he loved acted like a tonic, and 
 made the rapidity of his recovery more and more astonishing 
 to the good old doctor. 
 
 " It is of no use your trying to knock the belief in miracles 
 out of our heads, Lyne," he said on the second day, " when 
 your own life is a miracle. You frizzle yourself, suffocate 
 yourself, tumble down with a three-storey house, bury yourself 
 under the ruins, and here you sit chatting as brightly as if 
 nothing had happened." 
 
 Gabriel laughed, but the look of worship in Angela's eyes 
 increased. She was asking herself whether a man who lives 
 very near God does not become endued with some special 
 virtue which protects him against the evils of the world. In 
 a way her question might have been answered in the affirma- 
 tive. Gabriel's pursuit of holiness, which he identified with 
 wholeness, had left him with a constitution ready to carry him 
 through many experiences which would have proved fatal to 
 Canon Presyllett, weakened as he was by fasting and undue 
 emotionalism. 
 
CHAPTER XXXIX 
 
 One of the first uses Gabriel made of his returning strength 
 was to revise the last chapter of his finished book, in order to 
 keep faith with his publisher. He made his nurse feel very 
 proud by asking her to read it through to him and write 
 his corrections. To feel that she was doing something 
 for him which he really needed was the perfection of happi- 
 ness for her. It was the beginning of that life she looked 
 forward to so joyously, when she would be a helpmate in all 
 his labour. 
 
 The reading was a matter of some time, for there were 
 many questions suggested by it to be asked and answered. 
 
 " Do you think that suicide can ever be right ? " asked 
 Angela, startled by one of his sentences ; and Gabriel's face 
 grew grave and thoughtful. 
 
 "I think that it would be cruel to say that it is always 
 wrong. It is almost always wrong, because it is almost always 
 the result of impatience or cowardice. Impatient of a passing 
 cloud, a man sacrifices the life which a few days or years might 
 have made happy and useful again. But the very fact that 
 the power of self-destruction has been left in our hands inclines 
 me to believe that it may sometimes be allowable, as the only 
 refuge from hopeless pain, physical or mental. I am inclined 
 to blame Romeo, but not Juliet, faced as she was by the life- 
 long remembrance that her own artifice had led to her lover's 
 death." 
 
 " I am afraid that I do not know the story very clearly," 
 said Angela, flushing a little at the ignorance which a month 
 before she was proud of. " I have not read any of Shake- 
 speare's plays." 
 
 He neither showed nor felt surprise at her admission. He 
 
A CELIBATE'S WIFE 369 
 
 was too well acquainted with every phase of the Christian 
 creed to find novelty in any exhibition of its results. 
 
 " What a glorious time I shall have introducing you to the 
 joys of life, darling," he said, after he had told her the old 
 story, making her cry with its graphicness ; " the joys that 
 have been so long interdicted by your idea of religious duty." 
 
 The flush on her cheeks had changed to one of pleasure, 
 and her beautiful eyes were full of gratitude and anticipation 
 as she bent down to thank him with a kiss. 
 
 " But I shall read every word you have written before I 
 want to look at another book, Gabriel," she said, with an en- 
 thusiasm which was for him the most delicious flattery. 
 
 He smiled remonstratingly. 
 
 " You will make me vain, little one." 
 
 Mrs. Marlow knocked at the door as he spoke. The de- 
 voted Squire had driven his lawyer over from Barnwood, and 
 Mr. Capel was waiting to have a private interview with her in 
 the study. Angela ran down at once. 
 
 The interview was a painful one for both of them, although 
 the solicitor was a fatherly old man, who found it easy with 
 the majority of his clients to touch unpleasant subjects with 
 extreme delicacy. This girl's mixture of unconventional bold- 
 ness with absolute ignorance bewildered him, and made his 
 task a difficult one. The ignorance had to be dissipated when 
 so much turned upon the non-consummation of the marriage, 
 and Angela came away from the old gentleman's questioning 
 with a great added horror of the ordeal through which she 
 was passing. It required all her love and faith for Gabriel to 
 prevent her feeling resentment against him for insisting that 
 she should subject herself to it. 
 
 Mr. Capel had quoted a case which created considerable 
 interest within the last few years, to support his opinion that 
 the suit would certainly be successful if Angela's story could 
 be substantiated. The difference between a simple and speedy 
 settlement of the case and an expensive and wearisome law- 
 suit depended, he thought, upon whether Canon Presyllett was 
 prepared to admit the conditions on which the marriage was 
 entered, and the fact that it had been nothing more than a 
 form. 
 
 a A 
 
3)6 A CELIBATE'S WIFE 
 
 Mr. Capel was sufficiently endued with the popular idea of 
 the Canon's moral uprightness to feel little doubt of his ad- 
 mitting the truth, but Angela was ready to expect any falsehood 
 from him. 
 
 " I do not see how the right and wrong of anything can be 
 affected by anything that a man like that says," she argued 
 with Gabriel, as they talked over the legal opinion. "We 
 know the facts ourselves, and whether the man tells the truth 
 or tells a lie, it cannot make the facts one bit different." 
 
 She was sitting in her favourite seat by the side of the 
 invalid's bed, with her hand in his ; and her voice was not 
 that of protest. It was rather the inquiry of a puzzled child 
 wishing to learn. 
 
 " It is like this, darling," said Gabriel, trying to make her 
 duty plain ; " if we people in the world are to be anything like 
 friends and brothers instead of each fighting for his own hand, 
 we must back one another up ; and it is everybody's business 
 to see that I don't steal Presyllett's real wife." 
 
 " But we know that I am not his real wife, dearest," said 
 Angela. 
 
 " Just so, but the people who ought to back him up don't 
 know. If he admits it, well and good. If he does not — 
 well, they have just as much reason to believe him as to 
 believe us, and the truth will have to be thrashed out before 
 they know whether they ought to help him or not." 
 
 " And suppose they think that they ought to help him ? " 
 
 "Well, they will do their best, and it is right that they 
 should. Luckily they cannot prevent me taking you away, 
 but they can make it uncomfortable for us, and show that 
 they don't approve of us. You would not like everybody 
 around us to be thinking us impure." 
 
 " But I do not care a bit what people think," said Angela 
 resolutely, " so long as they cannot part us and we know 
 that they are wrong." 
 
 " You are a brave little woman," he said, raising her hand 
 to his lips tenderly, " and I think that I could manage so that 
 the world's disapproval did not annoy us much. But that is 
 only because we are completely content with each other, and 
 can afford to go where we like. People who were forced by 
 
A CELIBATE'S WIFE 371 
 
 the need of their work to stay among their old associates 
 would find it harder than you can imagine, little woman ; and 
 the best test of right and wrong is to ask ourselves whether 
 we could under any circumstances do the thing we meditate. 
 Only by doing that can we make our opinions of any use 
 to other people ; and of course you want other people to be 
 happy and do the wisest thing always, as well as ourselves, 
 don't you, sweetheart ? " 
 
 It was an appeal to the desire she had always felt to be an 
 example to those around her, put in a new form which dis- 
 sociated it from its old egotism, and Angela could not but 
 feel its force ; and still — she was very anxious to hear from 
 Mr. Capel that the ordeal of a long trial would be avoided by 
 the Canon's admission of the truth. 
 
 She could not understand the certainty which Gabriel 
 seemed to feel that the Rector would tell the truth, and 
 depend for the recognition of the marriage solely upon the 
 binding and insoluble nature of the marriage service, however 
 undertaken. She looked upon the Rector now simply as a 
 hypocrite without a conscience; but Gabriel was far too 
 sympathetic and scientific an analyst of human motive to 
 share her view. For the man's unclean passion to burst 
 through the artificial restraints of his creed, when he was 
 strongly tempted, was one thing. To deliberately tell an 
 abominable lie, which would in all probabiUty be detected 
 as a lie, was a different one; and the one sin which made 
 Angela expect any crime from him did not make the Infidel 
 expect the other. Pure wilful hypocrisy he had found, in his 
 keen examination of men, to be a very rare vice indeed. He 
 knew well enough that men will ever twist the hundred different 
 phases of Christianity to suit their characters, to justify or 
 ignore their pet vices and exalt their pet virtues; but the 
 human mind is a very secret manufactory, and keeps its pro- 
 cesses hidden very effectually from the ego who is fondly 
 supposed by Christian ethics to control its actions and be 
 responsible for its manufactured articles in the way of action. 
 Disowning as he did any idea of a creative spontaneous will 
 in man which would make a scientific forecast of his actions 
 impossible, the Infidel owed his success as a novelist to the 
 
372 A CELIBATE'S WIFE 
 
 power he had of judging truly from a man's character, and 
 the influences brought to bear on it, what his action in a 
 given case would be ; and he would probably have forecasted 
 correctly what course the Reverend Canon Presyllett would 
 take if he had been more intimately acquainted than he was 
 with the ecclesiastic's character. Gabriel did not know him 
 well enough to appreciate at its full value that all-absorbing 
 passion for his own dignity which made him shrink from the 
 slightest breath of scandal, which had made him hide himself 
 in his big deserted house with blinds drawn, afraid of seeing 
 a single face that might bear on it an expression of coni- 
 miseration or contempt. Contempt for himself was indis- 
 solubly connected in his mind with contempt for the religion 
 which he officially represented, and the preservation of his 
 dignity became in consequence a religious duty of the highest 
 importance, to attain which any step became allowable. False- 
 hood and impurity were transformed into virtues if they were 
 necessary to prevent the faith in and worship of God from 
 being dragged into disrepute. 
 
 It was not only the respect for God as represented by the 
 respect for His minister which was in danger. The most holy 
 and binding ordinance of marriage was being made light of, 
 and its bindingness must be maintained at all cost. When 
 a letter from Angela's lawyer, formally asking for the name 
 of his solicitor in view of the impending suit, told him that 
 the bindingness of the marriage was to be tried by law, the 
 fact gave him no relief. The idea of any civil power judging 
 an ordinance of God was above all things abhorrent to him. 
 The law was often a useful assistant to religion, helping him, 
 for instance, in his spiritual labours by punishing for him the 
 village barber who ignored his teaching sufficiently to open 
 his shop on Sunday ; but for the law to overrule the marriage 
 service, and declare unmarried a couple whom the minister 
 of God had declared married, was not to be thought of. And 
 unless the marriage were made a real one, the Canon realised 
 that the chance of the law annulling it was very great indeed. 
 Comparative impurity became idealised into a virtue, a require- 
 ment of holiness, when it seemed necessary to prevent such a 
 desecration of the services of the church. 
 
A CELIBATE'S WIFE 373 
 
 With the imminent fear before him that the respect of the 
 parish for his religion, and for the marriage ceremony, would 
 be weakened in consequence of his own actions, the Canon 
 fell on his knees in a spirit of contrition, and begged forgive- 
 ness for the restraint which his spiritual pride had made 
 him place upon his passions, to the detriment of his Master's 
 service. 
 
 He spent much time in prayer in the silent house, eating 
 very little, since it was necessary for him to prepare his 
 own food, and priding himself on the contempt of earthly 
 appetite which he showed out of dislike to a menial occu- 
 pation. He clung to a cloudless union with his Master, 
 now that he felt ostracised from the society and respect of 
 his fellow-men. The union was made more possible than 
 it had ever been, by the transformation of his unclean lust 
 into a virtue required from him for the Divine service. There 
 was nothing to prevent him yielding up his will utterly to 
 the will of God. 
 
 The agreement between the Angel and the Beast gave him 
 a sense of spiritual peace. He felt all Angel. 
 
 If Gabriel had known what was in his heart, he would have 
 thought him all Beast, and feared him more than he did. If 
 he could have seen him pacing the silent house, like a caged 
 animal, all the long day, his mind full of one absorbing pur- 
 pose; if he could have seen him in the dim study on his 
 knees, wrestling in prayer for Divine assistance in the most 
 unholy of enterprises, or creeping out after nightfall to walk 
 up and down the Hartle lane until the Squire's brougham 
 passed and from the deep shadow of the hedge he could 
 catch a glimpse sometimes of his wife's face, the Infidel might 
 have been less generous in his estimate of the man of God, 
 and less surprised when the blow came and the Rector of 
 Windlehurst prepared to meet the suit by denying in toto 
 every allegation that his wife made with regard to their 
 marriage. 
 
 Mr. Capel, warned by the painfulness of his former inter- 
 view with his client, communicated this disturbing piece of 
 information to Angela by letter, leaving it to Mrs. Gateacre, 
 to whose house the letter was addressed, to make plain to her 
 
374 A CELIBATE'S WIFE 
 
 the nature of the evidence which would be almost absolutely 
 required to combat the Canon's denial. 
 
 The Squire's wife, recalling the feelings of her own girl- 
 hood, spoke to her very gently and kindly, when they were 
 together, after the letter had been read. 
 
 "But you really need not feel afraid of a nice old man 
 like Dr. Cairn," she said persuasively; but Angela did not 
 answer a word. With wild eyes and white cheeks she stood 
 silent as a statue. 
 
 " Could Gabriel require this of her ? " she was asking herself, 
 and telling herself again and again that it was impossible. 
 
CHAPTER XL 
 
 "Miss Angela is a little late this morning, isn't she, sir? 
 She is generally so punctual," said Mrs. Marlow, glancing at 
 the watch on the dressing-table. 
 
 " I am fast," said Gabriel. " I want to be quite dressed by 
 the time she comes in. It will please her to find me looking 
 like a man again." 
 
 It was the first day that Dr. Cairn's mandate allowed him 
 to leave his bed, and the old housekeeper was helping him 
 into his clothes. 
 
 "And how do you feel, sir, now that you are on your 
 feet?" asked the old lady solicitously, as she watched him 
 cross the floor to the dressing-table. 
 
 " A little queer, of course, after being on my back for 
 a week, but more myself than I expected. By the time 
 I have had breakfast I expect that I shall be wanting to 
 go out for a walk. Hello ! I did not know I was such a 
 beauty ! " 
 
 He had caught sight for the first time since the fire of the 
 reflection of his face in the glass. 
 
 " Dr. Cairn says that the scars will almost disappear in 
 time, sir, perhaps altogether," said the housekeeper reassur- 
 ingly ; and Gabriel shrugged his shoulders. 
 
 " I should hope so. Do you know, I want to be just as 
 good-looking as a man can be. What anybody can see in a 
 face like this " 
 
 He ended the sentence abruptly, to turn with outstretched 
 hand and eyes radiant with welcome; for Angela's gentle 
 knock had sounded on the door, and Mrs. Marlow was passing 
 her in good-natured haste to leave them together. 
 
 " I have been looking at myself in the glass and wondering 
 
 37§ 
 
376 A CELIBATE'S WIFE 
 
 how you can care for such a wreck, little woman," he said, 
 clasping her hand in his, and kissing her upturned face. 
 
 Its pallor and the strained feverish expression of her eyes 
 struck him before he had finished the sentence. 
 
 "What is it?" he asked abruptly, holding her at arm's length, 
 and trying to read through her eyes what it was that troubled her. 
 
 She had come from her talk with Mrs. Gateacre so full of 
 the appeal she had to make to him, that she was just realising 
 that he was dressed, and shame of her concentration overcame 
 her. Her eyes filled with tears. 
 
 " How selfish I am," she said, her mouth trembling, " not 
 to let you see that I am glad. I am so glad, really, dearest ; 
 but " 
 
 Her self-restraint left her altogether, and, drawn by his hand, 
 she laid her head on his breast to sob there. 
 
 For a few moments he only stroked her hair soothingly 
 with his uninjured hand. The other, swathed in bandages, 
 still hung at his side. The sight of it reminded her of his 
 illness, and made her command herself. 
 
 " I am letting you stand, and you are so ill," she said, 
 drawing him to a chair. " Sit down, dearest, and let me tell 
 you how glad I am to see you getting well so quickly, and 
 how I love your poor scarred face." 
 
 She dropped on her knees by his side as he sat down 
 obediently, and tried to smile up into his sympathetic eyes 
 through her undried tears. 
 
 Gabriel smiled back. 
 
 " We will talk about that afterwards, darling. Now teil me 
 what has happened." His hand was tenderly stroking again 
 the waves of her rebellious hair, and he waited patiently when 
 she did not answer. Her head was bowed as she knelt at his 
 knee, and he felt that she was crying again. Her slender 
 hands clasped and unclasped painfully. 
 
 "I do not want to go on with the law case," she said 
 abruptly, in a constrained voice. 
 
 " But you were so brave, dearest. You said that you would 
 do it for me." 
 
 "Yes, yes, but you did not know or you could not have 
 asked me. I cannot, really I cannot." 
 
A CELIBATE'S WIFE 377 
 
 Gabriel drew in his breath, his brows contracting. 
 
 " Has that man been trying to frighten you out of it by 
 telling a lie ? " he said, his voice almost harsh. 
 
 " He denies everything." 
 
 "The hound! Then you were right and I was wrong, 
 darling. Well, we must not let him succeed." 
 
 Angela did not answer. She had caught the sound of Mrs. 
 Marlow's footsteps crossing the outer room, and rose from her 
 knees to open the door, as the housekeeper came in with 
 Gabriel's breakfast. 
 
 She placed the tray on a little Indian table by the fire, and 
 stood smoothing her creaseless apron. 
 
 " I should like to go to Barnwood to-day, if you can spare 
 me, Miss Angela. There are a good many things that we are 
 wanting." 
 
 Angela, shy of being appealed to as if she were mistress of 
 the house, turned to Gabriel, who answered for her. 
 
 " Dr. Cairn said that he would not call again till to-morrow," 
 added Angela, "and nobody else is likely to come, so you 
 might as well lock the front door before you go. I never hear 
 anybody knock here. If you go out the back way, you can 
 lock the gate after you." 
 
 Her danger at the Rectory had still left her with a fear of 
 the Canon, which the further revelation of his perfect baseness 
 served to increase, and even with Gabriel she felt safer to 
 think that the house would be locked against him while the 
 housekeeper was not at hand to lend her share of protection. 
 
 Gabriel was impatient for the old lady to leave the room. 
 
 " How did you hear what Presyllett says ? " he asked, when 
 he and Angela were alone together again. 
 
 " I will tell you about it after you have breakfasted, dear." 
 
 She was pouring out his coffee, and drew a chair for him 
 to the table. 
 
 " What a little despot you are," he said, affecting a cheer- 
 fulness which he was far from feeling ; and he sat down obedi- 
 ently to the meal, Angela standing at his side to wait upon 
 him, and perform every little service that the uselessness of 
 his right hand made necessary. 
 
 She did it all quite silently this morning, for her mind was 
 
378 A CELIBATE'S WIFE 
 
 too full of the talk that was to come for her to make even the 
 pretence of speaking about anything else. 
 
 She had not opened her Hps when Mrs. Marlow came in, 
 dressed for her expedition, to clear away the tray before she 
 started ; and Angela, nervous still about leaving the lower part 
 of the house unguarded, followed her downstairs to make sure 
 that the entrances were left locked. She did not return to 
 the sick-room until the housekeeper was gone. Then she 
 mounted the stairs slowly, thinking of the task that lay before 
 her, and found Gabriel trying unsuccessfully to roll himself a 
 cigarette with his one hand. 
 
 " You see, I cannot get on for a moment without your help, 
 sweetheart," he said smiling, as he pushed away half-a-dozen 
 torn papers. " But it does not matter now. I do not want 
 to smoke while you are with me. It is delicious to think that 
 we shall have a whole morning quite alone together. Has 
 Mrs. Marlow gone ? " 
 
 " Yes, dear." 
 
 " And now we can talk. How did you hear of that villain's 
 decision — through the lawyer ? " 
 
 Angela had seated herself at the table, to roll deftly into 
 its paper the tobacco he had been wanting. It was an accom- 
 plishment in which she was already becoming expert under 
 Gabriel's tuition. She stopped to take the lawyer's letter from 
 the bosom of her dress, and handed it to him in silence, going 
 on with her task while he read it through. Her heart was 
 beating very rapidly ; it seemed to her as though her breath 
 was held back, waiting for his words to give it freedom again ; 
 but her fingers did not pause in their task, and a little heap 
 of cigarettes rose under them. As the twelfth was rolled, she 
 rose, without glancing at him, to get the scissors from the 
 mantelshelf by which he was standing with the sheet in his 
 hand, and began to cut off the untidy ends mechanically. 
 
 Would he not speak and say that the whole horrible busi- 
 ness was unnecessary, and that she could belong to him at 
 once, whatever the world chose to think, so that she could 
 breathe again ? 
 
 The clipping sound of the scissors sounded audibly in the 
 silence, and the rustle of the letter when he moved it madQ 
 
A CELIBATE'S WIFE 379 
 
 her start, thinking that he was going to speak at last. How 
 could he hesitate ? It was cruel, unsympathetic of him. 
 
 She moved her head away irritably, when at last he stirred 
 and came to lay his hand on her hair. The gentle tenderness 
 of the action made her angry. 
 
 Why should he appear sorry for her ? Why could he not 
 say that the trial was not to be thought of, that she was dearer 
 to him than his scruples about a mere worldly opinion ? 
 
 He did not seem to her to have noticed her action ; although, 
 if she had dared to let her eyes reach his face, she would have 
 seen that it had grown more white and strained than even the 
 reading of the letter had made it. 
 
 " It is very bad news," he said gently, " horrible news. I 
 am so sorry, darling." 
 
 Her impulsive anger leaped out at his pity. He could 
 understand and pity her, and still think of making her suffer. 
 Could he love her at all ? Could any man love as a woman 
 did, or were they all bound to hug their cold self-righteous- 
 ness, and look upon the woman who gave up everything to 
 them as mere outside influences, helping or retarding them in 
 their desire to look well with their fellows ? 
 
 She stood up and confronted him now, but her eyes flashed 
 too hotly to see the marks of suffering on his face. 
 
 " Why should you be sorry for me ? " she said passionately. 
 " There is nothing for you to be sorry for unless you choose. 
 Why do you not say that the trial is useless and impossible ? 
 How can you really care for me, if you make me go through 
 its horror and nastiness, just to make you feel that you are 
 doing some sort of good to people to whom it cannot possibly 
 matter?" 
 
 Her words flashed out quick and impetuous, and when he 
 moved she put up her hand as if to prevent him touching 
 her. But Gabriel made no attempt to do so. He walked 
 back slowly to his place by the fire, and when he spoke his 
 calm measured voice contrasted strangely with her passionate 
 one. 
 
 " Do you really doubt that I love you, Angela ? " he said 
 slowly ; and his quietness only increased her anger. He was 
 torturing her in cold blood. She was beating the wings of 
 
 ( 
 
38o A CELIBATE'S WIFE 
 
 her heart against a cold mental theory which kept his feeling, 
 his humanity ice-bound. 
 
 " Oh yes, you love me well enough," she said, with less 
 restraint than ever; and her half-hysterical laugh stabbed him 
 cruelly. "But not as I love you. I could not make you 
 suffer to convict all the liars in the world. But so long as 
 you feel good and noble, you do not care how I am to be 
 disgraced and insulted." 
 
 She had burst into hysterical tears, but when he would have 
 drawn her to him to soothe her with a caress, she tore herself 
 away passionately, to fling herself down by the table and sob 
 unrestrainedly, with her face buried in her hands. 
 
 Gabriel did not follow her; the keenness with which he 
 realised how much she must be suffering to speak as she 
 had done made him feel sick and faint; the tendency that 
 the contents of the room seemed to have to swim round him 
 warned him to sit down on the edge of the bed, from which 
 he had risen, for the first time since the fire, less than an 
 hour before. 
 
 The hollowness of his voice when he spoke reminded her 
 again of his illness. 
 
 " You are hard on me, little woman," he said huskily ; and 
 as Angela turned she saw that his face was deathly white, and 
 his eyes full of tears. 
 
 She was full of contrition in a moment. Woman-like, the 
 sight of his emotion spoke to her more than all the carefully 
 reasoned argument in the world, and she hastened to his side, 
 to throw her arms round his neck and kiss away the tears 
 that had melted her. 
 
 " I am horrible. How can you care for me when I am 
 so selfish and unjust? Oh, my love, my love, I know that 
 you love me more than yourself. I never doubted it for a 
 moment, but you really don't know how impossible it is for 
 me to do what you want. The disgraceful questioning and 
 publicity of it all would kill me. I am foolish. You thought 
 I was braver, but you will not ask it now. It cannot matter 
 very much. I am all yours. You know, dear love, that I 
 belong to you entirely, altogether body and soul, and nothing 
 can alter that. Why should we think of anything else ? I 
 
A CELIBATE'S WIFE 381 
 
 am your wife, to do what you will with, because I love you 
 and know you love me. Nothing can make my love or yours 
 any truer. Why should we think another thought about 
 my foolishness in the past, and that horrible service I went 
 through? Every reminder of it tortures me. Why cannot 
 we forget it ? Why cannot I be yours entirely now, from this 
 moment ? " 
 
 Her arms, warm and soft through the thin nurse's dress 
 she wore, clung round his neck tightly. Her big eyes, lustrous 
 with tears, gazed up to his, tender with love and appeal. 
 
 Gabriel was very human. The momentary faintness had 
 gone, and left him keenly alive. The sensuous languor of 
 convalescence only gave his nerves an added sensitiveness to 
 the touch of the beautiful womanly form pressed to his. He 
 could not help remembering that they were alone together in 
 the house, behind locked doors. 
 
 But the physical part of his temptation, hard as it was, was 
 powerless against the lifelong habit of self-restraint which he 
 had practised. The real keenness of the temptation to give 
 that seal to their love which would satisfy her of the abandon- 
 ment of all his scruples with regard to public opinion, lay in 
 the fact that by withholding it he was leaving her to the torture 
 of the trial. It was a more terrible temptation than had ever 
 opposed his morality before. To give himself pain, discomfort, 
 annoyance, in pursuit of rightness, was easy enough ; but to 
 give pain to the woman he loved more than himself, to make 
 her doubt his love, to appear almost as if he were making him- 
 self out better than she, when he knew that she was divinely 
 unselfish, divinely pure — it was terrible to him. 
 
 There was a dread upon him lest she should misjudge his 
 hesitation, lest she should credit him with the common idea 
 of purity which makes an act unclean in itself, and needing 
 the sanctification of five minutes' priestly gibberish to cleanse 
 it; if she credited that idea, she would be thinking that he 
 doubted her purity, that he criticised her. And his sensitive 
 realisation of what she would feel if she did so, made the fear 
 a torture. 
 
 Why should he force her to undergo the trial? Their 
 union, as she said, could not be made a whit purer by their 
 
382 A CELIBATE'S WIFE 
 
 troubling themselves to satisfy society that it was pure. They 
 could go abroad at once, and their wealth — for Angela had 
 money of her own too, unless Presyllett had managed to 
 secure it by a settlement — would make them independent of 
 public opinion. He would shield her so that the breath of 
 scandal never came near her. Presyllett would no doubt 
 bring an action for divorce, but there was no need to defend 
 it. He was welcome to the damages, however great, that a 
 sympathetic jury of Christians might award him. 
 
 The thoughts flashed through his mind at lightning speed. 
 His hesitation showed itself in his face, and made Angela 
 hopeful of success. 
 
 " If there is anything wrong, and I am sure there cannot 
 be," she urged, " I will bear the responsibiUty. It is I who 
 ask that the law case should be abandoned. Agree for my 
 sake, because I have asked, Gabriel, not because it is right or 
 wrong." 
 
 Her words brought the real issue back to him, and he bent 
 down and kissed her. 
 
 " It is not a case of right and wrong, Angela," he said 
 gently; and the pain in his voice, the signs of suffering in 
 his face, made her patient, although she knew from his 
 gentleness that his decision was unchanged. An admiration 
 of his resolution was conquering her rebellion and resent- 
 ment as soon as she realised it. " It is simply a question 
 of what is the wisest thing to do. I have no code of right 
 actions which I must perform or enforce. My only aim is 
 to secure you the greatest amount of happiness; for you 
 must know, darUng, that your happiness is my happiness, 
 that I would a hundred times rather inflict a pain on 
 myself than on you." 
 
 " But if it is only my own happiness that is at stake," said 
 Angela wonderingly; for his argument, now that his voice 
 trembled with passion and sympathy, appealed to and calmed 
 her ; " if it is only my own happiness, surely I can decide." 
 
 " It is my happiness as well, but we cannot disconnect the 
 two, and you shall decide if you like when I have shown you 
 what your decision means, and why I wish you to go on with 
 the nullity suit." 
 
A CELIBATE'S WIFE 383 
 
 " You know that I dare not decide differently from you," 
 she said, trying to smile through her tears ; " you are so much 
 better than I." 
 
 " No, I am not," he said quickly, smiling in turn ; " but I 
 Know more than you do, little woman. You can see only 
 the unhappiness of the present, the horror of the suit and all 
 it entails. I know better than you do the unhappiness of the 
 future from which it will save you. The difference between 
 right and wrong, between truth and falsehood, is only the dif- 
 ference between what appears to be wise if we take a big view 
 and if we take a little view; and I am trying to take a big view 
 and look at the happiness of our whole lives. You think, little 
 woman, that the disapproval of the world won't hurt you half 
 so much as this horrid publicity will, but that is because your 
 mind, if not your body, has been living in a convent. You 
 thought it was right to wrap yourself up in a hard creed and 
 not care what the ordinary world did or said about you. If 
 you had gone on like that, you would have got harder and 
 harder, and less and less human, till you became quite un- 
 lovable ; but you are going to live in the outside world with 
 me, and if you feel new pleasures from living contact with 
 people, you will also feel new pains, the pain of forfeited 
 friendships and horrible misconceptions. In our new life we 
 shall form friendships which are very dear to us, but unless 
 you go through with the trial, we shall not form one without 
 feeling that it may be lost at any moment. The news of 
 the past will spread everywhere, and the woman who is like a 
 sister to you one day will hear the next that you are a divorced 
 woman, and shun you. She will not stop to inquire whether 
 the label you have gained was deserved or not. We cannot 
 expect her to, when you have had the chance of defending your- 
 self and let it go. Nor can we blame her for shunning us, 
 when she has heard only that man's story of your marriage." 
 
 " But I should not mind telling everybody our story, with- 
 out leaving them to hear other accounts of it." 
 
 " If that were possible, it would mean that you must keep 
 the story alive and with you all your life. The trial once over, 
 we could forget it. Then, little woman, you must remember 
 that you are no longer a complete person ; you are only half of 
 
384 A CELIBATE'S WIFE 
 
 one, and I am the other half. However brave y6u are, and 
 however proof you feel against popular opinion, you will find 
 that you are not proof against popular disapproval of me^ any 
 more than I can be proof against popular disapproval of you. 
 I can bear a good deal of scandal against myself cheerfully, 
 but a word against you, even if it were as false as it could be, 
 would hurt me horribly. I know that I should be all my life 
 trying to hide you, for fear of finding you with people who 
 had a wrong opinion of you, and all my life I should be 
 afraid. Wouldn't you do a great deal to save me from that, 
 darling?" 
 
 She nodded silently, afraid to trust her voice. 
 
 " And then, girlie, if we take a wider view still," he went 
 on, yet more gently and tenderly, " and think of our children, 
 it seems plainer and plainer that your right course is to go 
 through with the suit whatever it costs. Upon them, as upon 
 us, society would vent its disapproval, and we could not expect 
 them to bear the disapproval cheerfully and bravely simply 
 because they know society has made a mistake. You cannot 
 wish them to keep alive the wretched story of that man and 
 his untruth to exculpate themselves. It is pleasanter to think 
 of putting the world right about us before they come into the 
 world, isn't it, little one ? " 
 
 Angela nodded again silently. 
 
 His words had convinced her, but still the horror of it ! 
 
 With his wonderful sympathy, he knew her thought, and 
 nerved himself to speak of it. 
 
 " With regard to the suggestion in Mr. Capel's letter, dear," 
 he said, in a more matter-of-fact tone, which covered his effort, 
 " it seems the only way in which we can be sure of succeeding, 
 and it would save a good deal of unpleasant evidence of 
 another kind. You would save the servants from being 
 dragged into the case. I know that it is very terrible to 
 you. Although I am a man, and do not feel as you do, 
 still I think I know how horrible the very suggestion is to 
 you. But it is one of those things which have all their 
 pain in the present, which a wide view decreases instead of 
 increasing. Look at it in a year's time, a month's. ^What 
 pain will it have left ? " 
 
A CELIBATE'S WIFE 385 
 
 She had buried her face on his breast, and did not answer. 
 He did not expect her to. But after a long pause he asked, 
 in his matter-of-fact voice — 
 
 " You will see Dr. Cairn to-morrow when he calls ? I will 
 explain it all to him." 
 
 She nodded assent without raising her face, and they sat 
 in silence again for a long time, his hand caressing again the 
 red-gold that he loved so tenderly. 
 
 When she raised her head at last, she saw that there were 
 tears in his eyes, and she kissed them away impulsively, 
 blaming herself for having caused them by selfishly exagge- 
 rating her own hardship. 
 
 "I shall never never rebel again," she said passionately, 
 " against anything you direct. When I cannot see why you 
 direct it, I shall be quite sure that you know better than I." 
 
 "You must not think me infallible, little one," he said; 
 "that is not good for anybody. But you must never doubt 
 my love for you, or think that I am differing from you because 
 I care less for your happiness than my own. That is where 
 faith comes in." 
 
 " I do not know how you can care for me when I was so 
 wicked and horrible," she said, full of repentance still ; and 
 Gabriel only answered with a kiss. 
 
 "And now, dearest," he said cheerfully, "now that we 
 have quite settled about what we are to do, let us forget the 
 whole unpleasant business for to-day, and talk about what we 
 shall do when the wretched trial is over, and we can give 
 society the pledge it demands — that we really mean to belong 
 to one another till the end of our days. What a lucky thing 
 that fire was. If it had not happened, I should have been 
 crossing the Atlantic to-day, the most miserable man in the 
 world. I do not think that we will go to America now, 
 though. You will like Italy better, and we shall be more 
 alone there." 
 
 He ran on, drawing vivid word-pictures of the beauty of 
 a little place near Naples where he had stayed once to write 
 one of his novels, and where he would take her for their 
 honeyrijoon; and Angela's heart thrilled at the delicious 
 prospect of their happiness. 
 
 2 B 
 
386 A CELIBATE'S WIFE 
 
 But the very perfection of the prospect frightened her. 
 
 " It makes me almost afraid to feel so happy," she said, 
 twining her arm in his. 
 
 Canon Presyllett, who had grown more desperate than ever 
 after voluntarily making his whole reputation hang on the 
 avoidance of the lawsuit, was trying the locked door of the 
 cottage as she spoke. 
 
CHAPTER XLI 
 
 Angela tried bravely to keep back her tears when the dreaded 
 time of parting came for her that night. Day by day it had 
 become harder to her to say good-bye, for every day had 
 increased the happiness of companionship with the man she 
 loved, and made more keen the contrasting absence. And 
 to-day her happiness had been more complete than it had 
 ever been. Not till Gabriel's words had removed her resent- 
 ment for ever did she realise how great the resentment had 
 been, and what a cloud had hung between them on account 
 of his persistence in a step she had thought in her heart of 
 hearts useless and conventional. Now she understood the 
 wisdom of his resolve, and there was nothing to cloud, however 
 slightly, the completeness of their confidence and of her trust 
 in him. The day that had opened for her with such pain 
 had brightened into the most perfect of her existence. How 
 could she help crying a little that the end of it had come? 
 And still she did not want Gabriel to see her tears. For 
 to-night she realised, as she had never done before, that the 
 pain was as great for him as for her. Deep in her heart 
 before had been the rebellious thought that he was supported 
 by a feeling that he was doing something very holy, the feeling 
 that she had known so well in the old days ; but now she saw 
 that he was suffering, as keenly as herself, a present pain only 
 for the sake of her own future happiness, and her heart filled 
 with reverence and worship of him. 
 
 "Good-night, good-night, my darling, my own," she said, 
 as she clung to him in their last embrace. " Get quite well 
 very quickly, for my sake, dear one. Good-night." 
 
 He pressed her to him passionately. 
 
 " Good-night, darling. It is hard to lose you for twelve 
 
 387 
 
388 A CELIBATE'S WIFE 
 
 hours, but it is only twelve hours, and the morning will soon 
 be here. Good-night ! " 
 
 Their lips met in another long passionate kiss, and she tore 
 herself away, only to turn at the door to cling to his neck and 
 kiss him again. Parting was very very hard, and when she 
 ran down the stairs at last, her eyes were streaming with the 
 tears she need no longer conceal. She had bid Mrs. Marlow 
 good-night when the old lady came upstairs to say that the 
 brougham had come for her, so that Gabriel's kiss might be 
 the last thing to remember as she left the cottage. She ran 
 down straight now to the open hall door, before which the 
 Squire's carriage stood, scarcely distinguishable in the darkness 
 of the lane. Its dimness vaguely suggested itself to her mind, 
 but she did not think about it sufficiently to notice that the 
 carriage lamps were not lighted as usual, and she shut herself 
 into the brougham, with a little relief that the Squire was not 
 there to notice her tears. He had told her that he might not 
 be home in time, from a day's visit he was making to town, to 
 act as her escort as he usually did. 
 
 Angela, whose sympathies had widened wonderfully under 
 Gabriel's influence, was growing fond of the bluff, kind-hearted 
 man, whom she had judged severely in the old days, and 
 never forgot that he was her lover's staunchest admirer in 
 Windlehurst, and that he had been the first to tell her the 
 glorious news that Gabriel loved her, the news that seemed to 
 have changed her whole life. 
 
 But to-night she was glad that she could be alone during 
 the drive, to let her mind dwell uninterruptedly a little longer 
 on the things that Gabriel had said to her, on the revelation 
 that she had enjoyed of his masterly wisdom and goodness. 
 
 How wonderful that such a man, the noblest and grandest 
 in the world, should care for her, she a foolish child who had 
 to be taught everything that was right, she who had been so 
 self-righteous and inhuman. How good and clever it had 
 been of him to see in spite of her foolish fanaticism that 
 she really had a human heart, and a mind to recognise a 
 higher truth than any she had yet been taught. 
 
 The happiness of belonging always to such a man ! What 
 a life of joy they would lead together, he always helping her 
 
A CELIBATE'S WIFE 389 
 
 to choose the path, however difficult, that led to real happiness, 
 and not to an illusive one. Her mind carried her away into 
 dreamland as she recalled the pictures he had drawn of their 
 life in Italy, a life that was to be no less useful to others than 
 enjoyable to themselves, and she did not notice that the 
 brougham, in spite of its unlighted lamps, was being driven 
 more rapidly than usual along the dark and narrow lane. 
 
 It is strange how consciousness often appears to be affected 
 without the mediumship of the senses. Without having once 
 looked out of the carriage window, or questioned which 
 direction the brougham was taking, Angela roused herself 
 suddenly from her dreams, aware that the driver had turned 
 at the end of the Hartle lane in the wrong direction, which 
 led to Barnwood and away from the Hall. She pulled down 
 the window quickly, and saw that they had already rounded 
 the church. What could the man be thinking of? She 
 put her head out of the window and called to him, with no 
 thought yet except that he had either made a mistake or had 
 been told to drive along the Barnwood Road to pick up the 
 Squire returning from his journey, and had stupidly omitted 
 to tell her what his orders were. 
 
 The man did not answer. They were close to the Rectory 
 gate now, which for the first time in her knowledge had been 
 left wide open, and her surmises turned to panic as the 
 brougham wheeled round with dangerous speed to enter the 
 path that led to the house she dreaded. It was only by a 
 chance that the gate-post did not strike her as she stretched 
 herself out of the window calling to the driver, who seemed 
 deaf. Just at the turn, a sense of slight relief came to her 
 with the sight of her aunts, who were returning from a friend's 
 at Barnwood, and who had stopped at the gate to let the 
 carriage pass. She called out to them in a tone of terrified 
 appeal, and as the certainty came over her that she was the 
 victim of some horrible plot on Canon Presyllett's part, and 
 an impulse seized her to open the door and jump from the 
 carriage at all costs, in spite of the rapid rate at which it was 
 travelling, the knowledge that Iphigenia had certainly heard 
 her restrained her. Whatever the plot, she could surely 
 defend herself from any violence until her aunts came, as 
 
39© A CELIBATE'S WIFE 
 
 they must do, to her rescue, and saved her from the plot, 
 if not by physical force, at least by emphasising the danger 
 of that scandal which she knew the Canon was so anxious 
 to avoid. 
 
 She looked back to make sure that they were pursuing, but 
 the gateway was already lost in the darkness, and no figure 
 had emerged from the obscurity. 
 
 At the sound of her niece's terrified voice Iphigenia had 
 hurried a few steps after the brougham, till Prudence overtook 
 her, laying her hand in indignant roughness on her arm. 
 
 " Iphigenia, what are you going to do ? We have no right 
 to interfere between Canon Presyllett and his wife." 
 
 "But she is being driven there against her will," cried 
 Iphigenia with excited sympathy; and Prudence held her 
 back by main force. 
 
 "And why should she not be, pray? If she has so far 
 forgotten all that is due to her husband, to the sacred vow 
 she has taken, and to the reputation of her relatives, as to 
 give herself up to an atheist and leave her husband, I am 
 sure that it is very kind and forgiving of the dear Canon to 
 try and save her by main force. We cannot interfere with 
 him ; we can only hope that he may be successful in putting 
 an end to a scandal that otherwise will certainly drive us from 
 our home. Did you see who the driver was ? " 
 
 " I had only time to see poor Angela's face," said Iphigenia, 
 unconvinced. " Don't you think really, Prue, that we ought 
 to go to the house and see that it is all right ? " 
 
 " And decide whether a man has a right to his own wife ? " 
 asked Prudence ironically. " Fidge Gay don, I am surprised 
 at you. I suppose that you want the Canon to get a divorce 
 in order that he may marry you, but I can assure you that 
 you would not be the second Mrs. Presyllett." 
 
 Iphigenia answered hotly, almost forgetting Angela's cry in 
 her indignation at such an insult ; and the two little old maids 
 stood and wrangled at the gate until Prudence conquered as 
 usual, and Iphigenia allowed herself to be dragged unwillingly 
 home, with a despairing cry ringing in her ears, and making 
 her deaf to the homilies on marriage and its sacredness with 
 which her sister was trying to satisfy herself that she had done 
 
A CELIBATE'S WIFE 391 
 
 right in allowing her devotion to the Canon and to the 
 marriage service to rule her actions. 
 
 Half-way home they saw the brisk figure of Dr. Cairn 
 approaching, and Iphigenia, distracted between fear of offend- 
 ing convention as personified at present by her sister, and a 
 womanly desire to help Angela in her appealing distress, was 
 seized by a sudden impulse. Why should she not tell the 
 kindly doctor what had happened, and leave to him the re- 
 sponsibility of deciding what ought to be done? It was not 
 often that she acted on impulse, and the idea that she might 
 do something which would disgrace her for ever in Prudence's 
 eyes frightened her. If he stopped and spoke to them, she 
 thought she might tell him. There could be no harm surely 
 in just mentioning in conversation what they had seen. It 
 was not like taking any part in the affair herself. Yes, if he 
 stopped to speak, as he usually did, she would tell him. 
 
 Dr. Cairn happened to be in a hurry, however. The cobbler 
 had been seized with an idea that he had taken a turn for 
 the worse, and had sent for him post-haste ; and the doctor 
 passed the two little figures with quick strides and the most 
 automatic of salutes. 
 
 Iphigenia's heart sank. She had counted upon him stop- 
 ping. The cry of Angela rang in her ears again quite vividly, 
 and with a sudden decision, more impulsive than before, she 
 turned and ran after him, to pour out her story into his startled 
 ears. She was half-way through it before her sister realised 
 what she was doing, and before Prudence could reach them to 
 remonstrate, the doctor had startled even Iphigenia by break- 
 ing into a run in the direction from which they had come. 
 His last quick words were in poor Iphigenia's ears still — 
 
 "And you did nothing? Good God! can't an old maid 
 ever be a woman ? " 
 
 " Fidge, what have you done ? " said Prudence, breathless 
 with surprise and indignation. 
 
 " I have told him," said Iphigenia, bursting into sobs. " I 
 know it was wrong of me, but I could not help it. I could 
 not, really. That cry of poor wicked Angela's haunts me." 
 
 Meanwhile poor Angela had expected their help at every 
 moment, and she was far from feeling hopeless, although her 
 
392 A CELIBATE'S WIFE 
 
 terror was very great. She had determined that the moment 
 the brougham slackened speed sufficiently, she would leap out 
 and hurry to meet them. The carriage door was already open, 
 and she stood on the step ready for the leap ; but as she felt 
 the distance decreasing between herself and her protectors, 
 fear conquered every other emotion, and she threw herself out 
 before the speed of the horses had perceptibly slackened. The 
 momentum threw her at full length on the gravel, scarring her 
 hands cruelly, and rendering her for a moment dazed with 
 the shock. 
 
 She found herself trying to think where she was, and what 
 had happened, and then as the remembrance of her danger 
 came back she rose to her knees hurriedly. But before she 
 could regain her feet, the driver, who had leaped down from 
 his seat, was upon her holding her down. 
 
 She had counted as a last resource on arguing with the man, 
 and offering him a greater bribe than the Canon must have 
 done to take her part. She would give him a thousand pounds, 
 if necessary, to let her get away from this terrible house. 
 
 Now, as his bony hands closed on her shoulders, she turned 
 faint and sick with the realisation that it was Presyllett himself. 
 The overpowering fact gave her the strength of despair. She 
 must not faint or lose possession of herself. She must use 
 every atom of her strength to resist him until her aunts came. 
 Why were they so long? Surely they had heard her, and 
 understood that she was in danger. The idea that they could 
 have understood and still left her to her fate never occurred 
 to her. It was only for a little while that she must struggle. 
 She tried to cry, but something closed over her mouth and 
 choked back the sound. With the acuteness with which at 
 such moments all the senses are on the alert, she realised that 
 the gag was one of the large cambric handkerchiefs that the 
 Canon always used. It smelt strongly of a strange sickly 
 perfume that made her faint and dizzy. And still she never 
 guessed the truth, or tried to tear away the cloth saturated 
 with an anaesthetic that was stealing her senses. She was glad 
 that the man seemed to have no thought except to prevent her 
 crying out. Why should she wish to cry ? Her aunts would 
 come directly now, and meanwhile she was husbanding her 
 
A CELIBATE'S WIFE 393 
 
 strength to resist him when he ceased to think of gagging her. 
 But how faint the thought of it made her feel. Could it be 
 possible — a horrible fear came over her — that she was going 
 to lose consciousness, now that she had only to wait ? There 
 was a surging sound in her ears. She was becoming un- 
 conscious, and with a last despairing effort she tried to tear 
 at the handkerchief, but her hands refused to obey her will. 
 She was forgetting everything. What was it she was trying 
 to do? 
 
 The Canon moved the handkerchief, and lifting her uncon- 
 scious figure into his arms, staggered with it into the house 
 and up the stairs. The horses were left, panting with their 
 gallop, untended in the drive. 
 
 As he laid his burden down in the room that had been hers, 
 and which had been untouched since the last time that she 
 had slept there, Angela stirred as if with returning conscious- 
 ness, and the Canon paused to take from his pocket the violet 
 poison-labelled bottle that had stood him in such good stead, 
 and to sprinkle some of it on the handkerchief, again to 
 hold to her face. The half religious but wholly brutal passion 
 that possessed him killed all fear and scruple in him, and he 
 spilled the drug out carelessly, so that she might remain 
 unresisting still while he crept downstairs again to bolt and 
 bar the hall door through which he had entered. 
 
 A savage exultation was in his heart as he hastened back, 
 and he was conscious of a feeling of added justification for his 
 actions in the fact that the old maids had not interfered. He 
 had been half afraid that he would encounter them in the 
 hall, and have to argue — to lie, if need be — in order to satisfy 
 their anxiety on behalf of their niece. The fear of them had 
 hastened his violence, and now that their tacit admission of 
 his right to do as he liked with his wife strengthened his own 
 belief, he returned with a quiet conscience to the room 
 above, and knelt down by the bed on which Angela lay un- 
 conscious, to ask the God of all kindness and purity to bless 
 the act by which he was humbly striving to save the rebellious 
 handmaiden entrusted to his care from impurity and spiritual 
 destruction, and to preserve the respect of the congregation 
 for the true faith and its ministers. 
 
CHAPTER XLII 
 
 Squire Gateacre's groom was a reserved and slow-thinking 
 man, who performed his orders very faithfully, but without 
 question or curiosity. He had an almost religious hatred of 
 gossip, and although he was looked upon in the village as a 
 very interesting personage now that he had the duty of driving 
 Mrs. Presyllett between the Hall and " The Barn," it is probable 
 that he formed less conjectures about the reason of her resi- 
 dence with his master and mistress than any other man in 
 Windlehurst. He obeyed the orders that the Squire gave 
 him, and their reason was not his affair. He had heard that 
 the Rector was away. Probably his wife preferred the Hall 
 to the lonely Rectory until he returned. He did not take 
 the trouble to exercise his slow wits over a matter that did 
 not concern him. 
 
 On the night of the abduction, when Canon Presyllett met 
 him in the Hartle lane, telling him that he would take his 
 place and drive his wife home, the sovereign which accom- 
 panied the suggestion seemed to him unnecessary. 
 
 He had passed through a lifetime with the impression that 
 there are two orders of beings in the world — the rich, whose 
 duty it is to command, and the poor, whose duty it is to obey ; 
 and when the one who commanded was the Rector of the 
 parish, he obeyed as a matter of course. The pulpit voice 
 made hesitation out of the question. 
 
 His mind centred itself on the sovereign, and till he had 
 reached the village ale-house to taste the first joys of its 
 possession, not a scruple entered his head about what he 
 had done. But the immensity of the sum which had been 
 given him struck his dull mind when change was handed to 
 him across the bar in copper and silver. If the Rector's 
 
A CELIBATE'S WIFE 395 
 
 wish to drive his wife had simply risen, as he said, from a 
 desire to give her a pleasant surprise, why had he paid him 
 such an immense sum for his complaisance ? Vague rumours 
 which had reached him, but to which he had religiously 
 denied his ear, began to return and render him uneasy. The 
 men round him were trying to get information out of him 
 too as he drank, and though his faithful and praiseworthy 
 reserve about his employer's affairs would not let him open 
 his lips to satisfy them, still the questioning made him 
 uneasy. His master had given him a distinct order, and he 
 had disobeyed it at the Rector's suggestion on his own re- 
 sponsibility. It would be an awkward thing if, after twelve 
 years' faultless service, he found that he had done something 
 that his master did not wish. The thought of returning 
 to Mrs. Gateacre with the news began to disturb him, and 
 before the one glass of ale was swallowed he had decided 
 to walk back to " The Barn " and see that it was all right 
 before he faced his mistress. 
 
 As he reached the church he caught sight of the brougham 
 being driven very rapidly in the direction of the Rectory, and 
 he stood hesitating, wondering whether to follow it or to go 
 on to " The Barn " and satisfy himself by a word with Mrs. 
 Marlow that he had done nothing of which the Squire would 
 disapprove. 
 
 The chance that made him decide on the latter course, 
 the chance that had made him a moment too late to stop 
 the brougham and inquire, as he would have done, whether 
 he should follow to the Rectory to take the brougham home, 
 an inquiry which would have roused Angela in time to her 
 danger — these are the things that have to be reckoned with 
 and accounted for when we try to form a conception of God, 
 the motive Spirit of all happenings. 
 
 Ten minutes later the man was startling Mrs. Marlow 
 with his story, and was becoming as startled and frightened 
 himself to find the effect that it had upon her. 
 
 She ran upstairs almost hysterical to ask her master what 
 was to be done. 
 
 Gabriel had been undressing, his mind full as Angela's 
 had been of day-dreams of their future, and he did not 
 
396 A CELIBATE'S WIFE 
 
 answer her. Instead he put on his coat again, with the 
 haste and spirit of a man who was well. 
 
 " You are not going out, surely, sir ? you so ill," she 
 sobbed, more terrified than ever by the set expression of his 
 silent face. 
 
 " I had forgotten," he said. " Where is the brandy ? " 
 
 He seized the flask from the table, and pushed it into 
 his pocket. It might be necessary to keep back the weakness 
 that it terrified him to think of. 
 
 In a moment, it seemed to her, he was downstairs and 
 gone, with no word for the unhappy groom, who was anxious 
 to apologise. 
 
 Mrs. Marlow made up by her reproaches for her master's 
 silence. 
 
 It is a relief to some good people to be angry with some- 
 body. That is the chief use some of us have for a personal 
 Deity who can be blamed for evil happenings. 
 
 "You wicked idiot," shouted the good lady hysterically, 
 " you have let that fiend get hold of my poor mistress, and 
 now you have driven my poor dear master out to his death. 
 Don't stand staring and mumbling there. We must follow 
 him. Heaven only knows whether we shall not have to pick 
 him up and carry him home. Him that was in his bed yester- 
 day and just up for the first time. Oh dear ! oh dear I " 
 
 She was seizing him by the arm and hurrying him out 
 into the dark lane, where they hobbled along breathlessly side 
 by side, stumbling in the darkness, and panting with their 
 exertions. 
 
 Gabriel, in spite of his weakness, had far outstripped them. 
 They could not even hear the sound of his running. He had 
 not to stop for breath as they had to do a hundred times 
 before they reached the Barnwood Road, where Mrs. Marlow 
 almost stumbled into the Squire, who was returning from the 
 station on foot. 
 
 They were just under the lamps of the Rectory gate, but 
 the Squire did not recognise in the bonnetless and disordered 
 old lady, purple-faced with her exertions, the trim house- 
 keeper of " The Barn." His groom had already entered the 
 dark garden, and he would have passed with a good-natured 
 
A CELIBATE'S WIFE 397 
 
 apology if she had not clung to his arm, holding him desper- 
 ately till she could get her breath back sufficiently to speak 
 and tell him what had happened. 
 
 Her words when they came were wild and incoherent, but 
 it was easy for the Squire to grasp the one horrible fact that 
 poor Angela had been carried away by the Rector, and his 
 round red face turned white and ghastly in the lamp-light. 
 
 "And your master has gone there?" he asked excitedly. 
 " God grant that he was in time." 
 
 He strode up the path asking questions quickly, and swear- 
 ing horribly at the poor old soul in his excitement because 
 she could not answer quickly enough. 
 
 When they reached the still waiting brougham, the groom 
 was lighting the lamps mechanically, and Dr. Cairn stood 
 beside him. 
 
 " We are all too late," he said brokenly as they hurried up, 
 " all too late." 
 
CHAPTER XLIII 
 
 Angela's unconsciousness was very cruel. It left her too 
 late to make any resistance possible, too soon to save her 
 from any of the horror of her degradation. Perhaps it was 
 part of the clergyman's plan that it should be so. 
 
 The completeness with which during the past days he had 
 managed to identify his lust with the requirements of his creed 
 prevented him feeling shame or regret even when his lust was 
 satisfied and the Beast spoke no longer. 
 
 He lighted a candle on the dressing-table to exult over 
 her brokenness, and his voice took its old tone of spiritual 
 authority. 
 
 "Now, woman, you may go back to your atheist lover 
 if you wish, and if you think that he will take you," he said 
 severely ; " but you can no longer hope to exculpate your- 
 selves in the eyes of the world by pretending that the holy 
 ordinance of God did not make us man and wife. You 
 will be known for what you are, a woman who has abandoned 
 her husband to live in sin. You will not be able to satisfy 
 your wilful animosity by bringing contempt upon me and 
 the position God has given me. I say that you are free 
 to live a life of sin if you please, if you dare to face the 
 eternal damnation which will infallibly be your reward. To 
 save your soul from destruction, I am ready to forgive and 
 forget what is past, and to offer you the haven of your 
 husband's home and his love. It is an offer that few men 
 would make, perhaps, but I have been taught by that holy 
 religion you have revolted against to be merciful and to 
 forgive." 
 
 He paused, as if expecting that his eloquence, his magna- 
 nimity would bring some response from her. In the depth 
 
 398 
 
A CELIBATE'S WIFE 399 
 
 of his foul heart he had treasured up the hope that her 
 passion would be something like his own, like that of the 
 few women who had cared for him and suffered for caring. 
 With them, poor creatures, because they had loved him, 
 passion had asserted itself responsive to his own as soon 
 as the barrier of reserve had been broken through by his 
 villainy; and he had half expected this woman, who hated 
 him, and had given all the pure love of her heart to another 
 man, to be like them. 
 
 But she, a poor heart-broken girl, lay shuddering with her 
 face hidden in the pillow, and her fingers tearing like a mad 
 woman's half consciously at the white rounded breasts that his 
 hands had caressed, as if with her blood she could wipe out 
 the memory of his touch. 
 
 The man of God felt uncomfortable as he stood watching 
 her and saw that her nails had lacerated the white skin, felt 
 almost as if he had done some wrong, and he did not stop to 
 pray with her, as he had intended to do, that God would 
 forgive her revolt and incline her heart to turn from her 
 sin. He could not pray with her when she lay hke that, 
 and he left the room silently to kneel alone in the room 
 above, and struggle against the unpleasant doubt which was 
 disturbing him. 
 
 Angela had not uttered a sound until the door closed 
 behind him. Then a low piteous wail broke from her, more 
 like the anguish-cry of a wounded animal than of a human 
 soul. 
 
 " O Gabriel ! Gabriel I " she cried with her lips, but they 
 were dry and hard, and made no sound. 
 
 She tore again at her fouled body, loathing and abhorring 
 herself because it was hers, hers till the end of life, with its 
 stain never to be cleansed, never to be forgotten, and yet 
 linked inseparably with the mind that loathed it. The sight 
 of it horrified her, and she gathered her dress together at the 
 neck where it had been torn rudely open, and straightened 
 it out so that it covered her. But her body was there, all 
 the same ; what was the mere covering of a dress ? It was with 
 her always, she could not get away from it. She writhed from 
 side to side, in the agony of the thought. 
 
400 A CELIBATE'S WIFE 
 
 She was free to go away ? Why did she stay here in this 
 place, the very sight of which filled her with horrid nausea? 
 She sprang up, only to sink back again. She could not get 
 away from its loathsomeness. It had become part of her. 
 She could not ever see Gabriel again. That was impossible, 
 of course, for he would loathe her now as she loathed herself — 
 her body, but not her mind. That was as pure as it had 
 always been, but how could the two be separated ? She must 
 carry the degradation and horror with her always, and be 
 always alone. She could face nobody now, nobody that was 
 not as loathsome as herself, and her mind could not live with 
 them. There was no place in the world for her. Why could 
 she not die? Why had God not let her die already? It 
 seemed incredible to her that she could have remained in the 
 carriage so long, when she knew where it was taking her. 
 Why had she not thrown herself out in the road, at the 
 gate ? It would have killed her perhaps, but that would have 
 been a hundred times better than this. Gabriel could have 
 kissed her then when she was dead, and have felt no pollution 
 when his lips met her cold ones. Why had she not guessed 
 what the handkerchief meant and torn it away ? The remem- 
 brance of chances which she had let slip tortured her, and she 
 turned and twisted in agony. 
 
 It was a sentence of Gabriel's which came to comfort her. 
 " Grief for the past," he had said, " is the most useless thing 
 in the world, except where it teaches a lesson for the future. 
 When that is learnt, or if there is none to learn, it is a duty 
 to forget. The only thing worth thinking is : what are we 
 going to do ? " 
 
 What was she going to do? Her mind had schooled itself 
 so well to think as her lover wished, that she found her revolt 
 at the lost chances of the past cease to affect her at once. 
 What was she going to do? She had been feeling a hot 
 revolt against the Creator who could allow her to be degraded 
 and lost, but with the remembrance of Gabriel's words it 
 died away. Nothing happens for us to criticise, only to 
 direct us to the next move that is required of us, to 
 make us think what is the best thing and to do it. But 
 surely for her there was no best thing. God had left her 
 
A CELIBATE'S WIFE 401 
 
 without any light or hope of anything. Nothing was worth 
 doing. 
 
 Still there was relief in thinking, in centring her mind on 
 the vague future instead of the terrible unrecallable past. 
 
 She began pacing the floor, trying to keep her mind cool, 
 as Gabriel would have done. As she passed the mirror she 
 shrank back, afraid of seeing the reflection of her face even, 
 the face that had become loathsome to her. She felt a wild 
 desire to tear at it with her fingers in her hatred, but that 
 was madness, useless madness. Gabriel would tell her only 
 to think what would benefit herself and others. 
 
 Death ! 
 
 The thought came as an inspiration. God was merciful 
 after all. He had left in her hands the power of death, had 
 left her able to destroy the body that had been for ever 
 polluted. 
 
 She glanced round the room, wondering how it could; be 
 done, with something of rehef for the first time in her heart, 
 at the thought of release from her loathsomeness. 
 
 The room had been left exactly as she quitted it on the 
 morning of her flight. Her abandoned corset lay on a chair. 
 Gabriel's books were piled on the dressing-table, and at the 
 sight of them her hot eyes melted for the first time into 
 tears, and she bent down passionately to kiss the printed 
 sentences that his mind had originated. But the very touch 
 of her lips was impure now, and with a strange tender fancy 
 she raised her face and let her dishevelled hair fall on the 
 page, the hair that Gabriel had loved. That at least had 
 not been touched. Her scissors lay beside the books, and 
 with a quick impulse she raised them and cut away the red- 
 gold ruthlessly. Gabriel could kiss that when she was gone, 
 surely, in remembrance of her. A quaint conceit flashed 
 into her mind, a wish that her hair could live and feel his 
 touch when her degraded body was hidden away. 
 
 But she tore her mind from its impractical wandering, 
 and as her 6yes fell on the beloved books again, they gave 
 her a suggestion. By their side in the study cupboard she 
 had caught sight of more than one bottle, the red label of 
 which promised death. 
 
 2 c 
 
402 A CELIBATE'S WIFE 
 
 She hurried to the drawer where she had left her keys, and 
 finding them still there, selected with trembling fingers the 
 one she had used to secure the hidden books. 
 
 Then on tiptoe she took the candle and stole to the door, 
 and down the silent staircase. Thank God the study door 
 was unlocked. Her face had no expression but eagerness as 
 she crossed the cathedral-like room, the candle-light casting 
 strange shadows everywhere, and falling on her white cheeks 
 and the halo of gold that framed her beautiful face. 
 
 But with the means of death in her hand, the thought of 
 what she had lost came to her and made her cry again. 
 
 " O Gabriel, we should have been so happy," she said 
 aloud, with rippling sobs, as the pictures he had painted only 
 an hour or two before came back to her. It seemed very 
 hard of God that He could not have let them enjoy their 
 happiness. But that was a thought which Gabriel would not 
 have liked. There must be sorrows as well as joys, disap- 
 pointment as well as realisation, or God's creatures would be 
 left without feeling, without hope, without the endeavour that 
 made up the pleasure of life. It was not for her, Gabriel 
 said, to judge how much of the joy and how much of the 
 sorrow should be hers. Her duty was only to do the next 
 thing, the thing that pleased her best out of those which were 
 possible. 
 
 But if she could only have seen Gabriel's face once more, 
 just to have seen it without being near enough to think of 
 the pollution which forbade him to touch her. Perhaps she 
 would see him afterwards, although Gabriel thought it was 
 impossible. Still, whether he was right or not, it could not 
 affect her action. Even if there was unhappiness after death, 
 it could be no greater than that of living, the thing that 
 she was. 
 
 She started, thinking that she heard a footstep ; and the fear 
 that if the Canon found her, even the release of death might be 
 denied her, made her take a draught of the narcotic quickly. 
 
 It had been a false alarm, but that did not matter. She 
 might have liked to tell Gabriel that the hair was for him, 
 and that the Canon had not touched it. But he would 
 understand it. 
 
A CELIBATE'S WIFE 403 
 
 Her mind was quite clear still. She felt no sign of the 
 approach of death. Was it possible that the label was a lie ? 
 She was about to reach for the bottle again, when a feeling of 
 dizziness came over her, and with it a great fear and regret. 
 
 Not fear of death, but fear lest she should die before she 
 had tried to leave one word of comfort or consolation for 
 Gabriel. She was unutterably selfish; she had thought only 
 of herself, and not of him. She was leaving him without a 
 word. 
 
 She took up the candle quickly and walked dizzily across to 
 the writing-table. The Canon had left a sermon half written 
 there ; and, fighting against the stupor which was coming over 
 her rapidly, Angela plunged his pen into the ink and began 
 to write on the blank sheet that lay uppermost. 
 
 " Darling, darling love." 
 
 A thought came to her, as her hand moved, that she was 
 dying without a prayer, but she forced it back as too selfish 
 for consideration when Gabriel was being left without one 
 word of comfort, and her hand ran on unevenly over the 
 paper that her eyes could scarcely see. 
 
 "Forgive me if I am wrong, but there seemed no other 
 way, poor darling. He made me too loathsome for you to 
 love, and I could not live without your love. Good-bye, 
 darling. My last thought is of you ; my heart is all yours. 
 The hair . . ." 
 
 Her hand went on, but made no readable sign, and her 
 head fell forward on the desk. 
 
 She was quite dead when Dr. Cairn, who had run all the 
 way from the spot where Iphigenia told him her news, having 
 smashed one of the lower windows to let himself into the 
 locked house, found her with the pen in her cold stiff fingers. 
 
CHAPTER XLIV 
 
 "We are all too late," said Dr. Cairn to the Squire and 
 the housekeeper as they all huddled together with horror- 
 struck faces in the light of the brougham lamps. " Her aunts 
 actually saw the villain driving her here, and would not stretch 
 a hand to help her. I shall never be able to speak to those 
 women again. I have left poor Lyne inside. He is a miracle, 
 that man ; ran all the way from his place, and kept as calm 
 as a corpse when I told him the whole terrible truth. He 
 is with her now. I knew that he would want to be alone, 
 poor fellow, and I am going for the constable. It is the right 
 thing, I suppose." 
 
 " But you can't arrest a man for touching the woman he 
 has married," blurted out the Squire. "That is the worst 
 of it ; you can't touch him. It is not even contempt of court, 
 for the plea for nulUty hadn't been actually entered." 
 
 " No, you can't touch him," said Cairn, " though his crime 
 is murder." 
 
 " Murder ! " 
 
 " Yes, the poor girl has poisoned herself. I had to meet 
 Lyne and tell him. The man seemed almost glad to hear it 
 when he knew the other thing. She is out of the pain of it," 
 he said. " I can understand it making the poor young thing 
 not know what she was doing. If I had my way, Presyllett 
 should hang for it ; but, as you say, the law can't touch him. 
 I am just going to notify the suicide. Laudanum she took. 
 That hypocritical fiend seems to have had a stock of it. I 
 always thought he took drugs." 
 
 " Where is Presyllett ? " asked the Squire, his fingers 
 tingling ; and the doctor shook his head. " I don't know. I 
 didn't see him. But there is no doubt as to what has 
 
A CELIBATE'S WIFE 405 
 
 happened. The poor girl left a letter for Lyne, in which 
 she showed plainly enough. I gave it to him before he 
 saw her." 
 
 "And he is with her now," said the Squire in an awed 
 tone. " Poor fellow ! Poor fellow ! " 
 
 " I left him just going into the study where I found her. 
 I think he waited till I was out of the house, wanting to 
 be quite alone with her. Don't give way like this, Mrs. 
 Marlow." 
 
 The sympathetic old lady had begun to scream in violent 
 hysterics, and the Squire almost envied her this means of 
 relieving her feelings. To stand still and do nothing, knowing 
 that he had promised to guard and protect the poor girl, and 
 that if he had performed his duties a little more faithfully, 
 the poor thing might have been alive and happy ! Whatever 
 he took in hand he always did badly. What could have 
 possessed him to make him think his mere monetary business 
 in town was worth considering, when a woman's honour and 
 life were at stake? He had brought back over a thousand 
 pounds in notes with him, which he had been too late to 
 place in the Barnwood bank that night, and a mad impulse 
 came over him to tear them up. It would have been a relief 
 to him, but the uselessness of it held him back. Better keep 
 it to wound Presyllett in some way, if only by giving it to the 
 Nonconformists in the village. 
 
 His anger against the man he had thought so holy, helped 
 to divert his thoughts from the regrets that tortured him. 
 
 " I will make it the business of my life to see that villain 
 hounded out of the village and the church," he said to the 
 doctor, who was attending, with professional brusqueness, to 
 the hysterical old lady ; and Cairn shrugged his shoulders. 
 
 ** That won't do the poor girl any good ; but I'm damned if 
 I don't horsewhip him myself if he has the effrontery to show 
 himself again." 
 
 When Mrs. Marlow had grown calmer, and had been pre- 
 vailed upon to sit in the brougham, the two men stood talking 
 together again in whispers. 
 
 " I don't know exactly what to do about Lyne," said the 
 doctor. "The reserve strength that he has drawn on to 
 
4o6 A CELIBATE'S WIFE 
 
 keep him up like this will go before long, and leave him 
 helpless ; and still I don't feel somehow as if I can intrude 
 myself on him while he is with her. I shall give him another 
 quarter of an hour, I think. Poor fellow ! it is hardest of 
 all on him. He was desperately fond of her," 
 
 "They seemed made for one another," said the Squire, 
 shaking his head. " How did she look, poor thing, when 
 you found her ? " 
 
 The doctor was going into all the details, when he re- 
 membered for the first time the errand on which he had been 
 engaged when Iphigenia's story sent him in hot haste to the 
 Rectory. 
 
 " If you don't mind waiting for Lyne," he said abruptly, 
 " I will go and see Skeggs the cobbler. They say he has had 
 a relapse and is dying. I should have had to come here if 
 every patient I've got had been in extremis^ but I can't do 
 much good now. If Lyne collapses, all you have to do is to 
 give him half a wine-glass of brandy, drive him home as 
 quickly as you can, and put him to bed. I will call at the 
 constable's as I pass, but I wouldn't disturb Lyne until he 
 comes, if I were you." 
 
 The Squire nodded, and his voice broke as he answered — 
 
 " I shall take him home to the Hall. He has nobody to 
 nurse him now, poor fellow." 
 
 The next moment the doctor was trotting off with his pro- 
 fessional briskness down the gravel path ; the Squire, nervously 
 unwilling to be left alone, accompanying him to the gate. 
 
 When he walked back slowly, it was a relief to him to see 
 the brougham again, with the groom on the box, where he 
 had taken his seat to remove as far as possible his feeling of 
 strangeness. The man was whistling under his breath, with 
 the unconsciousness of habit, a music-hall air, and from the 
 inside of the carriage came faint moans, which showed that 
 Mrs. Marlow was not yet fully recovered from her hysterics. 
 There was no other sound in the dark garden, or from the 
 obscurity beyond where the house stood, indicated by two 
 feeble rays of light, one yellow from the hall, where the doctor 
 had lighted the lamp, the other tinged with colour as it forced 
 its way through the stained window of the study. 
 
A CELIBATE'S WIFE 407 
 
 There was an air of uncanniness about it all, with the know- 
 ledge that in the room lay a young beautiful woman driven to 
 death by a cruel wrong, with the knowledge that her lover 
 might, for all he knew, have fallen insensible with weakness 
 by her side, that made the Squire glad of the companionship 
 of the groom and the patient horses. How long would it be 
 before he could intrude on his friend's grief and carry him 
 away to Rachel's care and sympathy ? 
 
 Meanwhile, in the silent house of death itself, Gabriel had 
 not gone straight to the study, as Dr. Cairn had expected. 
 He had waited till the sympathetic little man was out of the 
 place, but not to see Angela. He could not do that yet. 
 
 As the hall-door closed he had taken up the lamp which 
 Cairn had lighted, and began to look into the rooms of the 
 house one by one. 
 
 A shudder ran through him when he entered the room where 
 the chief tragedy must have taken place, as the disordered 
 bed and the signs of Angela's belongings suggested. The 
 other tragedy was nothing to this. He could almost be glad 
 for her sake that Angela was dead, that the scene had been 
 wiped out from her mind by a merciful oblivion, even though 
 her death left him so utterly and irretrievably lonely. He 
 could still have been happy and helped her to forget ; but real 
 forgetfulness would never have come to her, nothing could 
 have ever cured the sting of her degradation. For her happi- 
 ness it was almost better that she should have died, and he 
 wanted no happiness for himself which was gained at the cost 
 of hers. 
 
 The gleam of her severed hair lying on his books drew him 
 across to the dressing-table, and the terrible hardness of his 
 face softened as he took up the soft red-gold and pressed it 
 to his lips. 
 
 But he could not think even of his love and misery yet, 
 and he let the hair lie where he had found it, although a 
 subtle sympathy told him its meaning. 
 
 His face was hard and stone-like again as he went on, 
 looking into every room until he came to that in which 
 the Rector knelt praying. 
 
 C^non Presyllett looked up, with panic on his gaunt face, as 
 
4o8 A CELIBATE'S WIFE 
 
 the figure of Gabriel entered silently. He had justified him- 
 self to God, with the complete assurance that his victim's 
 defender was too weak and ill to interfere with that settle- 
 ment of the question ; and with fear and surprise he remained 
 on his knees, unable to move a muscle or close the loose- 
 lipped mouth that had been open in invocation. 
 
 Gabriel had put down the lamp and locked the door 
 without uttering a word. He was standing with his back 
 against it now, tearing the bandages off his injured arm. 
 The flesh showed all red and scarred beneath, and he moved 
 his exposed fingers as if trying their strength. 
 
 There was a fiercer exultation in his heart than that which 
 had stirred the pulses of the man of God, when he found 
 himself alone with his prey. But even now the Infidel's dread 
 of any unthought emotion made him curb himself, trying to 
 look upon his action from the broad point of view from 
 which he examined everything. 
 
 To the trembling Canon the silence became unbearable. 
 
 " May I ask why you have forced yourself into my house? " 
 he asked, trying to give his voice the strength of angry 
 indignation. 
 
 "I came to tell you that your crime is finished," said 
 Gabriel quietly. " The woman you have wronged has poisoned 
 herself. You are a murderer. Canon Presyllett." 
 
 The clergyman rose to his feet, the new fear and horror 
 forcing back the old. For a moment he felt convicted of 
 the crime of which he was accused. 
 
 But it was only for a moment. The next he had put away 
 the idea of his own responsibility as ridiculous. The sin lay 
 with the wicked woman herself, who had so far forgotten the 
 laws of her God that she dared to enter His presence un- 
 called, and with the man who by his wicked blasphemies had 
 robbed her of the faith which would have held her back. 
 
 The completeness with which his conscience absolved him 
 gave him courage, and he drew himself erect, with something 
 of his old pulpit manner. 
 
 " My wife a suicide ! " he said. " And so this is the end 
 of your horrible work. You have shattered her faith, you 
 have blinded her to the bindingness of the holy marriage 
 
A CELIBATE'S WIFE 409 
 
 tie, and your teaching has ended in this, a suicide's terrible 
 death." 
 
 But Gabriel held himself back no longer. The emotion in 
 him could find no more useful expression than in the thing 
 he meant to do. His decision was a just one, if any decision 
 is just by which society puts an end to an existence which 
 menaces the safety of all its members. His instinct was as 
 worthy as any which makes us wipe the venomous reptile 
 from our path without scruple. 
 
 Before the Canon had finished his exhortation Lyne had 
 leaped upon him, dragging him to his knees, and burying his 
 fingers in his throat. 
 
 A superhuman strength possessed him, and he was anxious 
 to get through with his work before it left him. 
 
 There was some little satisfaction for him in choking the 
 life out of the unholy thing that writhed under his hands, 
 clawing at his wounded arm, as if he would relax his hold 
 for mere physical torture. He would breathe more freely 
 when he had destroyed the foul beast which had taken Angela 
 from him, so that no note of exultation or triumph should 
 be raised at her misery. But the mere physical gratification 
 of it would not have enabled him to go on, when the man's 
 face grew purple and his religious eyes bolted out horribly, 
 if a sense of duty had not upheld him, a sense that he was 
 giving to a just resentment the only expression which could 
 in any way satisfy it. It would be a wicked and unnatural 
 thing to ignore it, to live placidly and know that the Rector 
 of Windlehurst was alive. 
 
 It was a filthy thing to kill, and spluttered and whined and 
 grovelled horribly before the life was out of it ; but the grip 
 of Gabriel's fingers never relaxed until it was still, and could 
 be kicked out of his way with his boot, as he went down to 
 bid Angela a last good-bye. 
 
 He was kneeling over her, kissing her cold cheeks, with 
 all the stony coldness melted out of his face, when Squire 
 Gateacre, unable to bear the suspense of the dark garden 
 any longer, at last entered the study; and Gabriel rose at 
 once. 
 
 " I am glad that you are here, Gateacre," he said, almost 
 
4IO A CELIBATE'S WIFE 
 
 in his natural voice. " I have something to talk over with 
 you. But let us walk outside. The house stifles me." 
 
 He was anxious to get away from the room where Angela 
 lay, now that he was no longer alone with her. 
 
 The Squire noticed that he held himself erect, with no sign 
 of weakness ; that there was almost an elasticity in his step. 
 He wondered that his face could be so calm and peaceful 
 after his great trouble, and did not understand that to Gabriel 
 Lyne the past was nothing except in so far as it pointed out 
 a course for the future. 
 
 " Feelings are only given us," he had written in one of his 
 books, " to be turned into actions." 
 
 He was the first to speak when they reached the porch. 
 
 "What ought to be done to a creature like Presyllett, 
 Squire ? " he asked, as if it were a mere theoretical question 
 that had arisen in his mind. 
 
 " If I had my way," said Gateacre hotly, and glad of a vent 
 for his emotion, *' the fiend should be hanged. He is directly 
 responsible for that poor darling's death. But we can't hang 
 him ; we can't do anything, except make public opinion too 
 hot for him to hold his living." 
 
 " The man is a murderer," said Gabriel. 
 
 " Yes, but not according to the law." 
 
 " That is only because the law cannot be framed to include 
 every case of crime. Where it fails by an accident like this, 
 I think a man should leave the law out of question and 
 punish the crime himself. What do you think ? " 
 
 « Kill him ? " 
 
 "It is the punishment which public opinion has always 
 held to be the only right one for murder." 
 
 " You must not think of it, my boy," exclaimed the Squire, 
 alarmed by the quiet determination of his friend's tone. 
 " He deserves it, but that would not prevent your being 
 hanged if you took the law into your own hands." 
 
 " That would only matter to a man who cared for his life 
 or for the condemnation of thoughtless people. I hope that 
 is your only objection, because I have killed him. I was glad 
 to see you, because you are a magistrate, and I can deliver 
 myself formally up to you, to answer for what I have done," 
 
A CELIBATE'S WIFE 411 
 
 The Squire stopped dead in the path. 
 
 " Lyne, you don't mean it ? " 
 
 "Of course I mean it. It was the only thing to be 
 done." 
 
 " But you will be hanged, man. Cragg the constable will 
 be here directly, and he will take you in charge." 
 
 " I suppose so." 
 
 The Squire stood panting breathlessly, his excitement con- 
 trasting strangely with Gabriel's calm. 
 
 " But, man alive, don't you care what happens to you ? " 
 he blurted out frantically. "You can't stop here and be 
 treated like a common felon." 
 
 " It will not make me like a common felon," said Gabriel. 
 " If the thing was right in itself, and I think it was the only 
 course, it does not matter what people call it." 
 
 The Squire was plunging into the pocket of his great-coat, 
 and brought out a roll of notes. 
 
 " Get away, man," he said hoarsely in his excitement, 
 " get away out of the country. Here is a thousand to help 
 you till you find your feet. Be quick. Get to Barnwood at 
 once, before anybody else knows." 
 
 He seized his arm to hurry him along, but Gabriel shook 
 his head, smiling. 
 
 " You are a good friend, Gateacre ; but I don't want any- 
 body to think I am ashamed of what I have done. There 
 was plenty of my poor girl's poison left, if I had been afraid 
 of the consequences. Thank you all the same, Squire ; and 
 good-bye. Here is the constable." 
 
 That night Gabriel was lying unconscious in the prison 
 infirmary at Barnwood, whither he had been driven in a state 
 of collapse in the Squire's brougham, while the news of his 
 "crime" spread widecast over the country. Windlehurst 
 was frantic with excitement over the twin tragedy, and shook 
 its head sagely over the result of a non-Christian belief. The 
 Infidel of Windlehurst had acted more respectably than they 
 expected as a general rule, but his cloven hoof was sure to 
 show sooner or later. They had always said it, and now 
 their words had come true. There was nothing like the 
 
412 A CELIBATE'S WIFE 
 
 good old faith to keep a man respectable. People who had 
 begun after the fire, and the consequent enthusiasm for the 
 Infidel, to admit openly that there might be certain things in 
 the Christian creed about which a man may honestly hold 
 two opinions, ceased to make public a theory so dangerous, 
 and fought against its existence in their minds, for fear that it 
 might ultimately lead them to the gallows. That an opinion 
 which by any possibility can lead one to the gallows must 
 be irreligious, was an unquestioned axiom, the precedent of 
 Jesus notwithstanding. 
 
 The two old maids at Lilac Lodge spent a day rocking 
 in each other's arms and weeping, partly because the poor 
 Rector was dead, " martyred " Prudence called it, a little 
 because they had lost the niece whom they had never under- 
 stood, but chiefly because she had dragged them into the 
 scandal which they had striven against all their lives, and 
 which must drive them from their home. 
 
 "If she had only been more like other girls," sobbed 
 Iphigenia a hundred times in the day — for they had tacitly 
 agreed to avoid her name. " If she had only been content to 
 be as good as we are, instead of running after every strange 
 idea that she heard, how happy she would have been." 
 
 " She had everything to make her happy," agreed Prudence, 
 " the love of a good man, and a position which anybody might 
 have envied." 
 
 And then they wept again to think of the martyred Rector. 
 
 The reaction against Gabriel had caused public opinion 
 throughout the place to veer round to the side of Canon 
 Presyllett, and even the inquest, which was smoothed over 
 as much as possible by a coroner who respected the institu- 
 tions of his country, did not aifect it sufficiently to prevent 
 a subscription being raised and largely subscribed to, in order 
 to raise a handsome tomb by the church-door to the holy 
 man who had been killed for pluckily asserting his right to 
 his own wife. 
 
 They were kind to poor Angela too, and after deciding 
 unanimously that her death could only be due to a freak of 
 madness, kindly gave her body the honour of being buried 
 in the same grave as her husband's, even piously expressing 
 
A CELIBATE'S WIFE 413 
 
 their hopes that in spite of her faults the two might meet 
 again in heaven. 
 
 The Squire did not subscribe, but he performed one last 
 kindly office for the girl whom he could never think of 
 without tears. 
 
 When the little Tomtits paid a last visit to the tomb 
 before leaving Windlehurst, they were shocked to see that 
 the inscription had been mutilated. The Rector's name and 
 virtues were left untouched, but after the line "Also of 
 Angela " followed a rough chisel- mark. Some evilly disposed 
 person had obliterated the words " his wife." 
 
 THE END 
 
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