Then Oscar raised his eyes to meet the gaze of Mark Lawrence. The gloomy expression in them was such as the chaplain could never forget, or the bitterness of the tone in which Coldstream replied to his friend’s remonstrance: “Would you think it meet to take an unrinsed glass from a publican’s counter and use it as a chalice?” Then, without waiting for a reply, Oscar turned on his heel and strode out of the veranda into the garden beyond.
“Is the poor fellow insane?” thought the chaplain.
“O Mr. Lawrence, Mr. Lawrence, do not let this make you misjudge my husband!” exclaimed Io in bitter distress; “he is one of the best—yes, one of the most religious of men!” The poor lady was unconsciously wringing her hands as she spoke.
“I would not willingly misjudge any one,” said the chaplain gently, “especially one for whom I already feel respect and regard.”
“You cannot respect him too much,” said the wife; “I cannot think why my husband should speak as he did.” Io could not bear to tell the chaplain what she had concealed from the doctor, of that which was the bitterest trial which she had had to endure in her married life. Oscar had refused to conduct even family prayer, though he daily read the Bible to Thud and herself. Coldstream was willing that his wife should pray; he never restrained her devotions either by look or word; but he seemed to be kept back by someinvisible and incomprehensible barrier from audibly joining in them himself.
There was a painful pause for several minutes, which was broken by Mr. Lawrence. The chaplain had risen to take his leave, but was arrested by a thought which had just occurred to his mind.
“Perhaps it is Mr. Coldstream’s very great conscientiousness, his shrinking from anything approaching to hypocrisy, that makes him act in this way,” suggested the clergyman.
“You think so?” asked Io anxiously, like one catching at a straw of hope. “All seems to me so dark.”
“Perhaps I may throw a little gleam of light on the cause of Mr. Coldstream’s depression,” said the pitying chaplain. “I believe that early this year he returned to England in the Argus, in which ship Mr. Pogson was his fellow-passenger. May I ask whether your husband has spoken much regarding that voyage?”
“He has never said a word to me about it,” was Io’s reply; “I never even heard the name of Mr. Pogson.”