“My dear Jane, think of this—­all we call ‘progress’ ends with death.  What is that progress worth which is bounded by the grave?  If progress in men and women is not united with faith in God, and hope in His eternal life and love, I would not lift my hand or speak one word to help either man or woman to such blank misery.”

“Do not put yourself out of the way, John.  There will be no change in the women of today that will affect you.  But no doubt they will eventually halve—­and better halve—­the world’s work and honors with men.  Do you not think so, John?”

“My dear, I know not; women perhaps may cease to be women; but I am positive that men will continue to be men.”

“I mean that women will do men’s work as well as men do it.”

“Nature is an obstinate dame.  She offers serious opposition to that result.”

“Well, I was only telling you how far progressive ideas had grown in Hatton town.  Women propose to share with men the honors of statecraft and the wealth of trading and manufacturing.”

“Jane, dear, I don’t like to hear you talking such nonsense.  The mere fact that women can not fight affects all the unhappy equality they aim at; and if it were possible to alter that fact, we should be equalizing down and not up.”  Then he looked at his watch and said he must be at the Club very soon.

“Will you remain in the parlor until I return, Jane?” he asked.  “I will come home as quickly as possible.”

“No, John, I find it is better for me to go to sleep early.  Indeed, as you are leaving me, I will go to my room now.  Good night, dear!”

He said good night but his voice was cold, and his heart anxious and dissatisfied.  And after Jane had left the room he sat down again, irresolute and miserable.  “Why should I go to the Club?” he asked himself.  “Why should I care about its small ways and regulations?  I have something far more important to think of.  I will not go out tonight.”

He sat still thinking for half an hour, then he looked again at his watch and found that it was yet possible to be at the Club in time.  So with a great sigh he obeyed that urging of duty, which even in society matters he could not neglect and be at rest.

There was no light in Jane’s room when he returned home and he spent the night miserably.  Waking he felt as if walking through the valley of the shadows of loss and intolerable wrong.  Phantoms created by his own sorrow and fear pressed him hard and dreams from incalculable depths troubled and terrified his soul.  In sleep it was no better.  He was then the prisoner of darkness, fettered with the bonds of a long night and exiled for a space from the eternal Providence.

At length, however, the sun rose and John awoke and brought the terror to an end by the calling on One Name and by casting himself on the care and mercy of that One, who is “a very present help in time of trouble.”  That was all John needed.  He did not expect to escape trouble.  All he asked was that God would be to him “a very present help” in it.