"I thought so," said his friend quietly. "Do you mean to tell me about it?"
"Of course," replied Tristram. "I should have told you last night, but I didn't want my affairs to keep you awake."
"Well, what is it? I am awake now and am not going to bed for eight hours at least, so this is a good opportunity to tell me," observed Dormer, who was not troubled by incongruities of time or place.
"Charles, I cannot be ordained!"
The effort to get out these words was apparent; not so the effort which it cost Dormer to hide the shock they gave him. He merely asked coolly, "Why not?"
"Because I'm thinking day and night of another man's wife. Charles, Charles, it's unbearable! I see her always as she was on her wedding-day, and ... I see him standing beside her, too. I picture them in their own house. The Rector reads little things from her letters. He does not say much, out of consideration for me perhaps—only I know that she is happy so far—thank God!—very happy."
Dormer looked at him compassionately as he sat, his head in his hands, on a log near the door. "My poor Tristram!" he said gently. "I know. I quite understand." And then he was silent.
After a little he went on again. "All the same I hardly see how you could expect it to be otherwise. Of course you see her. If one image has been in a person's mind for many years, how can it be suddenly expelled at a certain hour, on a certain day? God does not ask from us impossibilities."
"But I want her," said Tristram from between his hands, "more than I have ever wanted her in my life ... and sometimes I think I could kill him!"
It appeared to Dormer that these statements might or might not be serious. For the present he ignored them, and only said, "I'm thankful you are coming away with me. You need to give yourself a rest." And then, because, for Tristram's sake, he himself wanted time to think, he got up and went to the door. "The storm is nearly over, isn't it?"