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All the time he was reading the prayers and lessons, all the time he was reading his uncle's sermon, he had not only been aware of those eyes, but aware also of what lay behind them seeing and reading the reflex of himself in Bascombe's brain; but nothing more whatever could he recall. Like finger-posts dim seen, on a moorland journey, through the gathering fogs, Sunday after Sunday passed.
He ate his dinner, quietly responding to Bascombe's sallies which had usually more of vivacity than keenness, more of good spirits than wit with a curious flickering smile, or a single word of agreement. It might have seemed that he was humouring a younger man, but the truth was, the curate had not yet seen cause for opposing him.
In some way the word had touched her, and had unsealed the fountain of tears, if not of faith. Neither did he see the curl on the lip of Bascombe, or the glance of annoyance which, every now and then, he cast upon the bent head beside him. "What on earth are you crying about? It is all in the way of his business, you know," said Bascombe's eyes, but Helen did not hear them.
In some way the word had touched her, and had unsealed the fountain of tears, if not of faith. Neither did he see the curl on the lip of Bascombe, or the glance of annoyance which, every now and then, he cast upon the bent head beside him. "What on earth are you crying about? It is all in the way of his business, you know," said Bascombe's eyes, but Helen did not hear them.
Poor, poverty-stricken Wingfold! actually craving for things beneath Bascombe's notice! actually crying for something higher and brighter than the moon!
As she repassed him to go to the drawing-room, she did indeed say a word of kindness; but it was in a forced tone, and was only about his dinner! His eyes over-flowed, but he shut his lips so tight that his mouth grew grim with determination, and no more tears came. To the friend who joined her at the church-door, and, in George Bascombe's absence, walked with them along Pine Street, Mrs.
"All God can do to set it right," he resumed, after a pause, "is to damn me for ever and ever, as one of the blackest creatures in creation." "THAT I don't believe, anyhow!" returned Helen with equal vehemence and indefiniteness. And for the first time, George Bascombe's teachings were a comfort to her. It was all nonsense about a God.
In that dawn of coming childhood, though he dared not yet altogether believe it such, the hard contemptuous expression of Bascombe's countenance, and the severe disapproval in Mrs. Ramshorn's, were entirely lost upon him. All the way down the river, the sweet change haunted him.
He neither heard their entrance, nor saw the face of disgust that George made behind his back. What was in Bascombe's deepest soul who shall tell? Of that region he himself knew nothing. It was a silent, holy place into which he had never yet entered therefore lonely and deserted as the top of Sinai after the cloud had departed.
"All God can do to set it right," he resumed, after a pause, "is to damn me for ever and ever, as one of the blackest creatures in creation." "THAT I don't believe, anyhow!" returned Helen with equal vehemence and indefiniteness. And for the first time, George Bascombe's teachings were a comfort to her. It was all nonsense about a God.
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