He was again pacing, but paused in his ponderous walk, struck by a flaw in his argument which he had not before seen.  “But if it were commanded by the Lord, Sister Susannah?”

“God does not command this wickedness.  What you command in his name is at your own peril, Mr. Smith.”

He paused before her, asking with reflective curiosity, “Why are you so sure that it would be wickedness, sister?”

She had not arguments at command; she held fast to her assurance with the same dogged unreasoning faith with which Ephraim’s mother had of old held her belief that this Smith must be an arch-villain; she had put the whole power of her volitionary nature upon the side of faith in the ideal marriage, although she was painfully conscious that she had come across no particle of evidence for the existence of such a state.  Out of faith, out of mere instinct of heart, which had not worked itself out in intelligent thought, she gave her unhesitating judgment.  “I say that it would be wicked because I feel that it would be wicked; and any good woman,” she paused and looked him straight in the eyes, “and any good man, would know its wickedness without arguments, and without weighing all possible considerations.”

His eyes fell before hers.  He looked not angry, but grieved.  As for Susannah, in the heat of her indignation she did not know that her own long effort to resist the unreasoning acceptance of cut-and-dried doctrines and any dogmatic insistance upon opinion had here failed.

Smith stood for some moments before her, and her fire cooled.  He sighed at her dictum.  Then he said gently, “But your judgment in this matter has great weight with me, sister, and if I accept it you will perceive that you are indeed the elect lady, and that by living in the light of your countenance I shall obtain peace.”

It was difficult for her not to suppose that her influence was beneficial.  She thought at the moment that when she had left this place she might still correspond with Smith if he desired it.  If it was part of his eccentricity to be willing to listen to her, why should she not be willing to speak, and thus keep his madness under control?

Smith, regarding her, caught the gracious look upon her face which had opposed to him so often only a mask of reserve.  His imaginative hopes were always ready to magnify by many dimensions the smallest fact which favoured them.  His unsteady mind was fired by the presumption of some triumph.

“Have not I, even the prophet of this great people, waited with great patience?  As the apostle saith, ‘Let patience have her perfect work.’”

Susannah started and wondered.

“For behold I did not desire that our dear brother, Angel Halsey, should go into the forefront of the battle, nor would I trouble the first grief of thy widowhood, but behold I have waited.”

“For what?” Her question came sharply.  His tone had changed her mood suddenly; a memory flashed on her of the ill-written letter which Emma had shown her of the phrases concerning the spiritual “bride” or “guide” who, even if all licence were denied to humbler folk, was to be a prophet’s special perquisite.  “What have you been waiting for, Mr. Smith?