"You forget. You were so entirely absorbed in the care of Alfred; and then the church meeting was held with closed doors. Even the papers did not know the whole truth at once. I kept it from you as long as I could! Oh! It was cruel, so cruel."
"Little woman," spoke Philip, very gently and calmly, "this is a blow to me. I did not think the church would do it. I hoped——" he paused and his voice trembled for a brief moment, then grew quiet again. "I hoped I was gradually overcoming opposition. It seems I was mistaken. It seems I did not know the feeling in the church."
He looked out of the window again and was silent. Then he asked, "Are they all against me? Was there no one to stand up for me?" The question came with a faint smile that was far more heart-breaking to his wife than a flood of tears. She burst into a sob.
"Yes, you have friends. Mr. Winter fought for you—and others."
"Mr. Winter!—my old enemy! That was good. And there were others?"
"Yes, quite a number. But nearly all the influential members were against you. Philip, you have been blind to all this."
"Do you think so?" he asked simply. "Maybe that is so. I have not thought of people so much as of the work which needed to be done. I have tried to do as my Master would have me. But I have lacked wisdom, or tact, or something."
"No, it is not that. Do you want to know what I think?" His wife fondly stroked the hair back from his forehead, as she sat on the couch by him.
"Yes, little woman, tell me." To his eyes his wife never seemed so beautiful or dear as now. He knew that they were one in this their hour of trouble.
"Well, I have learned to believe since you came to Milton that if Jesus Christ were to live on the earth in this century and become the pastor of almost any large and wealthy and influential church and preach as He would have to, the church would treat Him just as Calvary Church has treated you. The world would crucify Jesus Christ again even after two thousand years of historical Christianity."