Molly gasped. His misunderstanding seemed to her too colossal to be coped with. "It will be a public reproach to father," she managed to say.
"I fear he may consider it so; and that is just my difficulty."
"But what good can it do to Hetty?"
"I was not, in the first instance, thinking of Hetty, but rather using her case as an example which would be fresh in the minds of all in the building. Nevertheless, since you put the question, I will answer, that my argument should induce our mother and sisters, as well as the parish, to judge her more leniently."
"The parish!" murmured Molly. "I was not thinking of its judgment, And I doubt if Hetty does."
"You are right. The particular case—though unhappily we cannot help dwelling on it—is merely an illustration. We, who have duties under Christ to all souls in our care, must neglect no means of showing them the light, though it involve mortifying our own private feelings."
Molly, who had been plucking and twisting all this while the twig between her fingers, suddenly cast it on the ground and hobbled away.
John gazed after her, picked up the book and set it down again.
The sermon came easily now.
Having thought it out and arranged the headings in his mind, he returned to the house and wrote rapidly for two hours in his bedroom. He then collected his manuscript, folded it neatly, scribbled a note, and called down the passage to the servant, Jane, whom he heard bustling about the parlour and laying dinner. To her he gave the note and the sermon, to be carried to his father; picked up a crust of bread from the table; and a minute later left the house for a long walk.
Returning a little before supper-time, he found the manuscript on the table by his bedside. No note accompanied it; there were none of the usual pencil-marks and comments in the margin. The Rector had restored it without a word.