There was a certain hardness about the man, a rigid sense of honour that was almost a fault; for, if it be a virtue to cleave to truth and good faith above everything, to swear to one’s neighbour and disappoint him not—­even though it be to one’s own hindrance—­it is certainly not a fine or noble thing to mistake tenderness for a weakness only fit to be crushed out of the soul with firm hands and an iron determination.

Guilty once of one irreparable action of weakness, Maurice had set himself determinedly ever after to undo the evil that he had done.

To be true to his brother, to keep his faith with Helen, these had been the only objects he had steadily kept in view:  he had succeeded in his efforts, but had scarcely realized that, in doing so, he had not only wrecked his own life, but also that of the woman whom he had so infinitely wronged.

But when he saw her once again—­when he held for an instant the cold hand within his own—­when he marked, with a pang, the dark circles round the averted eyes that spoke so mutely and touchingly of sleepless vigils and of many tears—­when he noted how the lovely sensitive lips trembled a little as she spoke her few common-place words to him—­then Maurice began to understand what he had done to her; and, for the first time, something that was almost remorse, with regard to his own conduct towards her, came into his soul.

Such meditations were not, however, safe or profitable to indulge in for long.  Maurice recalled his wandering thoughts with an effort, and with something of repentance for having given them place, turned his attention resolutely to his wife’s chatter during the remainder of the walk home.

Meanwhile Vera and the vicar are walking back, side by side, to the vicarage.

“Something,” says Eustace, with solemn displeasure, “something must really be done, and that soon, about Ishmael Spriggs; that man will drive me into my grave before my time!  Anything more fearfully and awfully out of tune than the Te Deum I never heard in the whole course of my life.  I can hear his voice shouting and bellowing above the whole of the rest of the choir; he leads all the others wrong.  It is not a bit of use to tell me that he is the best behaved man in the parish; it is not a matter of conduct, as I told Mr. Dale; it is a matter of voice, and if the man can’t be taught to sing in tune, out of the choir he shall go; it’s a positive scandal to the Service.  Marion says we shall turn him into an enemy if we don’t let him sing, and that he will go to the dissenting chapel, and never come to church any more.  Well, I can’t help that; I must give him up to the dissenters.  As to keeping him in the choir, it is out of the question after that Te Deum.  I shall never forget it.  It will give me a nightmare to-night, I am convinced.  Wasn’t it dreadful, Vera?”

“Yes, very likely, Eustace,” answered Vera, at random.  She has not heard one single word he has said.