always to come to our meetings through the wood and past the chapel.  And however fast I went and however tight I shut myself up in thoughts of you and your love and my love I have always felt that these images spoke to me reproachfully in passing.  It’s not mere imagination, Will.  Why, before we came to Wych-on-the-Wold when you went away to the Pacific that I might have peace of mind, I used always to be haunted by the idea that God was calling me back to Him, and I would run, yes, actually run through the woods until my legs have been torn by brambles.”

“Madness!  Madness!” cried Starling.

“Let it be madness.  If God chooses to pursue a human soul with madness, the pursuit is not less swift and relentless for that.  And I shook Him off.  I escaped from religion; I prayed to the Devil to keep me wicked, so utterly did I love you.  Then when my brother was offered Wych-on-the-Wold I felt that the Devil had heard my prayer and had indeed made me his own.  That frightened me for a moment.  When I wrote to you and said we were coming here and you hurried back, I can’t describe to you the fear that overcame me when I first entered this hollow where you lived.  Several times I’d tried to come down before you arrived here, but I’d always been afraid, and that was why the first night I brought Mark with me.”

“That long-legged prig and puppy,” grunted the squire.

Mark could have shouted for joy when he heard this, shouted because he was helping with his Paternosters and his Aves to drive this ruffian out of Esther’s life for ever, shouted because his long legs were strong enough to hold on to this yew-tree bough.

“He’s neither a prig nor a puppy,” Esther said.  “I’ve treated him badly ever since he came to live with us, and I treated him badly on your account, because whenever I was with him I found it harder to resist the pursuit of God.  Now let’s leave Mark out of this.  Everything was in your favour, I tell you.  I was sure that the Devil. . . .”

“The Devil!” Starling interrupted.  “Your Devil, dear Essie, is as ridiculous as your God.  It’s only your poor old God with his face painted black like the bogey man of childhood.”

“I was sure that the Devil,” Esther repeated without seeming to hear the blasphemy, “had taken me for his own and given us to each other.  You to me.  Me to you, my darling.  I didn’t care.  I was ready to burn in Hell for you.  So, don’t call me coward, for mad though you think me I was ready to be damned for you, and I believe in damnation.  You don’t.  Yet the first time I passed by this chapel on my way to meet you again after that endless horrible parting I had to run away from the holy influence.  I remember that there was a black cow in the field near the gates of the Grange, and I waited there while Mark poked about in this chapel, waited in the twilight afraid to go back and tell him to hurry in case I should be recaptured by God and meet you only to meet you never more.”