Mrs. Huxam contemplated such a Sunday with enthusiasm and the printed page brought a rare flush to her cheek. But worse followed and her brother had doubly scored the fall of mariners, which too often happened. There was Captain Kemble, of Boston, newly come off a three years' voyage, who publicly kissed his wife, the day being Sunday; and devout persons were compelled to witness the offence, since it took place under the open sky on the erring man's front-door step. Another master of a Boston vessel, caught loitering in the streets, during those later hours of Saturday sanctified by law to "catechising and preparations for the Sabbath," was followed by a constable and dragged to prison. But in his case divine retribution delayed not and the little child of this sailor fell into a well on the following day and was drowned; whereupon the contrite wretch acknowledged the Hand of God and the justice of his punishment in open congregation.
These were they who had fled from England to escape religious persecution.
It was at this stage of her enquiry that Mr. Huxam joined his wife in the parlour of their villa residence, and she took off her spectacles to utter an aspiration.
"Oh, for the grand old days and the grand old faith!" she sighed, and he, who had already dipped into "The Sabbath of New England," assured her that while such as she still stood for the Light, some fine breath and after flavour of those adamant times yet breathed its essence over the earth, to be caught up and preserved and passed forward by the will of the Everlasting.
"While the Chosen Few remain, the work goes on," he said.
"I'm not repining," she answered. "I'm not even wishing I'd lived among those grand people, because that would be to want what my Saviour didn't will; but the flesh is weak, and reading of such high Christianity makes one mourn for the present day."
"You open the road to a thought a good bit on my nerves of late—ever since our Margery went home," he told her. "The better the day, the better the deed, so I'll openly tell you that I'm much fearing, Judith, you don't hold me quite so high as you were used to do."
His wife looked at him and set down her Sunday reading. She did not answer and he continued.
"Of course I know the reason; but I'm a long way short of being convinced that you are right. You hold it was a shameful abuse of confidence and deliberate danger to Margery that I should have let her husband have the chance to see her alive; and you think that action has put me in a very doubtful position. Well, I disagree, Judy."
"I know you do, so what's the good of talking about it? I'm not your judge, Barlow. I feel sometimes that—I feel, in fact, nobody can be positive. You'll call that a weak word coming from me; but I've been a bit bruised and battered by the powers of evil myself of late."