Dr. Macrae had lingered long on the moor. He had refused the carriage, feeling that physical motion was the imperative craving of the hour. But he was in such a miraculous state of rapture that his walking was not walking; he trod upon the air, the earth was buoyant under his feet. He knew not, he asked not, whether he was in the body or out of the body. The exquisite Adalaide loved him. She had promised to be his wife. With a little cry of joy he recalled that ecstatic moment when she had kissed on his lips the one little word which made all things sure.
"This is love!" he cried joyfully, lifting his face to the heavens, "and I have blamed and punished those who have fallen through love! O man foolish and ignorant of the great temptation!"
He did not sleep. He had neither the wish to sleep nor the need of it. Never in all his life had he been so keenly alive, so stubbornly awake. With a face of rapt expectancy he recalled the looks and words and motions of Adalaide. She had said they would have a year's honeymoon among the storied cities and churches of the Mediterranean, and he began to consider what this proposal meant. Certainly it implied his resignation from the pulpit of the Church of the Disciples. Could he bear that? Would he like to sit and listen to other men preaching the Word, while he sat silent? On the previous Sabbath he had shown forth that irresistible ordination which comes through the call and Hand of God. Could he deny this great honor and stand like a dumb dog in the courts of the Lord?
Was love indeed the greatest thing in the world? He was too honest a thinker to admit this fallacy. In his own congregation he had seen love set aside for duty, for gold, for power, and he knew young men and women who had put love behind them in order to remain with helpless parents and succor them. They had received from their fellow creatures no particular praise nor indemnity, they had quietly resigned love for the nobler virtue of duty. Women without number were constantly making this sacrifice, and should he resign the helpfulness and honor of his God-given office to this pretender of supreme earthly power? Positively he refused to entertain for a moment the possibility of casting away the work God had given him to do.
When he came to this decision the day was sullenly breaking, and he heard his sister-in-law's voice and the tinkle of the breakfast china. Then came the call for coffee and he said: "It is just what I wanted, Jessy. Are we not earlier than usual?"
"Yes," she answered, "but I knew you were awake, and thought your coffee would be welcome."
"It is. Thank you, Jessy"; and the words were said so pleasantly she met them with a smile and, as he seemed wishful to talk, she responded readily to his desire.
"Where is Marion?" he asked.
"In the Land of Sleep and Dreams, wherever that is."
"Nobody knows that, Jessy. There is so much we do not know, and never can know, that striving for Truth is discouraging."