“And if you would only put away that picture,”—­said Walden, earnestly, pointing towards the ’Virgin and Child’—­“Or rather, if you would have another one painted of the sweet woman you loved as she really was in life, it would be wiser and safer for your own peace.”

The Bishop shook his head.

“The Virgin and Child are a symbol of all humanity,”—­he said—­ “Mother and Son,—­Present and Future!  Woman holds the human race in her arms—­at her breast!—­without her, Chaos would come again!  And for me, all Womanhood is personified in that one face!”

He raised his eyes to the picture with an almost devout passion—­and then abruptly turned away.  The conversation was not renewed again between them, but when Walden parted from his friend, he had the satisfaction of knowing that he left him in a brighter, more hopeful and healthful condition, cheered, soothed and invigorated by the exchange of that mutual confidence and close sympathy which had linked their two lives together in boyhood, and which held them still subtly and tenderly responsive to each other’s most intimate emotions as men.

XXVIII

Arriving home at his own domain late on the Saturday night, Walden had no opportunity to learn anything of the incidents which had occurred during his brief absence.  Letters were waiting for him, but he opened none, and shut himself up in his study at once to prepare his next day’s sermon.  He wrote on far into the night, long after all the servants of his household had retired to rest, and overslept himself the next morning in consequence, therefore his preparation for the eleven o’clock service were necessarily somewhat hurried, and he had not time to say more than a cheery ‘Good-morning’ even to Bainton, whom he passed on his way into the church, or to Adam Frost, though he fancied that both, men looked at him somewhat curiously, as with an air of mingled doubt and enquiry.  Once within the sacred building he was conscious of an exceptionally crowded congregation.  None that he could see were missing from their usual places.  Maryllia certainly was not there,—­but as she was admittedly not a church-goer, he did not expect her to be present.  Badsworth Hall was entirely unrepresented, much to his relief; neither Sir Morton Pippitt nor Lord Roxmouth, nor Mr. Marius Longford were anywhere visible.  Old Josey Letherbarrow sat in his usual corner,—­ everything was precisely the same as it was wont to be—­and yet a sense of vague trouble oppressed him,—­he saw, or thought he saw, an expression on some of the faces of his parishioners which was new to him, and he felt instinctively that some disturbing element had found its way into the peace of the village, though what the trouble could be, he was at a loss to imagine.  He chose as his text:  ’What went ye out for to see?  A reed shaken with the wind?’ and preached thereon with wonderful force, simplicity, eloquence and fervour—­ though all the time he spoke he wondered why his people stared at him so persistently, and why so many round eyes in so many round faces appeared to express such a lively, not to say questioning curiosity.