Mr. Eldred had united with them in the beginning, but when he discovered that the members of the society were much more interested in getting up costumes than they were in their own mental improvement, and that the whole thing was degenerating into private theatricals, he withdrew, and urged his wife to do the same, but no amount of persuasion could move her in the least; her own will had been her law too long.  And this was the being he had thought to mould!  It was all so different from the picture he had sketched of these first months of their married life, the picture of sunny, happy days, flowing on with scarce a ripple.  Instead, they held long heated discussions that only served to widen the distance between them.

“I beg your pardon,” Vida said, in sarcastic tones, during one of these skirmishes, “but I think it would be much more to your profit to attend the meetings of our society than to find fault with me.  If you would study Shakespeare more, it might freshen up your sermons somewhat, and lift them from the commonplace.  I cannot but think you are degenerating.  The first discourse I heard you preach was filled with poetical fancies and literary allusions, and the language was flowery and beautiful.  Your preaching seems to have changed of late; last Sabbath, for example, it was mere ‘talk’ without rhetoric or eloquence; the most ignorant in the church could have understood them.  I thought you would receive a call soon to a wealthy church in a large city, but you never will make a reputation if you preach in this style.”

Mrs. Eldred’s angry passions were raised to a high pitch, or she would not have spoken thus plainly.

The sorely tried spirit of the man who listened could not repress a groan at the conclusion of this long tirade.  He did not trust himself to say one word, but went with a slow, heavy step, like one who had received a mortal hurt, to his study.  The irritation he might otherwise have felt at such words, was lost in sorrow at the utter lack of sympathy, and apparent ignorance of the spirit and aims of the gospel.

He had been coming nearer to Christ the last few months, had received a new baptism, and with it a new view of preaching the gospel.  He had, doubtless, spoken in an unknown tongue to scores of his hearers.  Now he turned the key on his elegant essays, and, asking the Lord for a message, he was trying to tell it with no “great swelling words,” but in humility and plainness of speech, holding up Christ, hiding himself, intent only on saving souls.

Satan had told him before that the world and some Christians would count his preaching “not deep;” now his own wife had repeated the thought.  He had been so happy in his work, and he longed to throw himself into it with nothing to come between him and “This one thing I do.”  But daily trials on account of one who should have been his greatest helper, saddened him, so that much of his labour was mechanical, and he carried a heavy burden.  The anxiety was continuous, for he was well aware that many busy tongues were censuring her, while kindlier critics were grieved at her course.