‘Your bidding shall be done,’ she said—­’of course.’

‘Tell them, then, that they must seek me if they want me.’

’But, Josiah, think of the parish—­of the people who respect you—­for their sakes let it not be said that you were taken away by policemen.’

’Was St Paul not bound in prison?  Did he think of what the people might see?’

’If it were necessary, I would encourage you to bear it without a murmur.’

’It is necessary, whether you murmur, or do not murmur.  Murmur indeed!  Why does not your voice ascend to heaven with one loud wail against the cruelty of man?’ Then he went forth from the room into an empty chamber on the other side of the passage; and his wife, when she followed him there after a few minutes, found him on his knees, with his forehead against the floor, and with his hands clutching at the scanty hairs of his head.  Often before had she seen him so, on the same spot, half grovelling, half prostrate in prayer, reviling in his agony all things around him—­nay, nearly all things above him—­and yet striving to reconcile himself to his Creator by the humiliation of his confession.

It might be better for him now, if only he could bring himself to some softness of heart.  Softly she closed the door, and placing the candle on the mantle-shelf, softly she knelt beside him, and softly touched his hand with hers.  He did not stir nor utter a single word, but seemed to clutch at his thin locks more violently than before.  Then she kneeling there, aloud, but with a low voice, with her thin hands clasped, uttered a prayer in which she asked her God to remove from her husband the bitterness of that hour.  He listened till she had finished, and then rose slowly to his feet.  ‘It is in vain,’ said he, ’it is all in vain.  It is all in vain.’  Then he returned back to the parlour, and seating himself again in the arm-chair, remained there without speaking till past midnight.  At last, when she told him that she herself was very cold, and reminded him that for the last hour there had been no fire, still speechless, he went up with her to their bed.

Early on the following morning she contrived to let him know that she was about to send a neighbour’s son over with a note to Mr Walker, fearing to urge him further to change his mind; but hoping that he might express his purpose of doing so when he heard that the letter was to be sent; but he took no notice whatever of her words.  At this moment he was reading Greek with his daughter, or rather rebuking her because she could not be induced to read her Greek.

‘Oh, papa,’ the poor girl said, ’don’t scold me now.  I am so unhappy because of all of this.’

‘And am I not unhappy?’ he said, as he closed the book.  ’My God, what have I done against thee, that my lines should be cast in such terrible places?’