"We've just hacked the stone for her grave out of the earth. Torn up by the roots, like she was herself. She dies and her children lose a father as well as a mother, because they know the stroke was mine; and what honest child shall love a father that killed a mother? That's not all. Think of that man now helping me to get the stone to her grave. Think of the suffering poured on Winter's head. A very good, steadfast sort of man—and yet my hand robbed him of much he can never have again. Three out of four children lost, and that saint underground. And all allowed by the good-will of a watchful God."
He nodded, emptied the glass his friend offered him and looked out at the rain.
"You're dark to-day and don't see very clear, my dear," said Billy. "You put this from your own point of view, and so 'tis very ugly I grant; but every thing that haps has two sides. You've bitched up your show here, Jacob, and I'm not going to pretend you have not. You've done and you've suffered a lot, along of your bad judgment; and you was kindiddled into this affair by the powers of darkness. But 'tis the way of God to use men as signposts for their fellow-men. He sees the end of the road from the beginning, and He knows that the next scene of your life, when you meet Margery, will belike be full of joy and gladness."
"It's your heart, not your head, that speaks that trash, William," answered the younger. "Can future joy and gladness undo the past? Can the sunshine bring to life what the lightning killed an hour afore? How shall understanding in Heaven blot out the happenings on earth? Things—awful things—that God's self can't undo? And answer me this: if some live happy in this world and go happy to the next, as well we know some do; then why should not all? If some are born to live with their minds clear, their tempers pure, their passions under control, why should such as I am blot the earth? Would a man make maimed things? Would a decent man bring living creatures to the birth short of legs or eyes, when he could fashion them perfect? Where's the boasted mercy of your God, William? Where's His eternal plan, and what's the sense of talking about a happy eternity if a man comes to it poisoned by time? I'm calm, you see—a reasoning creature and honest with myself. My everlasting inheritance would be nothing but one undying shame and torture at the ruin I have made; and I know that I cannot stand up in the next world among those I have spoiled and wronged and feel a right to do so. And if my Creator has built me to gnaw my heart out in agony through a life without end—what is He? No, the only poor mercy left for me is eternal night—endless sleep is what I'd pray for if I could pray; because another life must be hell wherever it is spent. Let Him that made us unmake us. 'Tis the least and best that He can do for nine men out of ten."
The storm had swept past and a weather gleam flashed upon the rain. The red beech trees before William's home shone fiery through the falling drops and shook off little, flying flakes of flame, as the leaves whirled in the wind.
Mr. Marydrew did not answer, but followed Jacob to the wicket gate and watched him as he rejoined Winter. William waited until the cart had disappeared and was turning to go in, when a neighbour came up the shining road from Shipley.
It was Amelia Winter in her pattens.
"Did Adam tell you he's wishful to see you to-night?" she asked and Billy answered that he had not.
"Well he is," she said, and put down the big umbrella under which she had come. "He's lending a hand with a heathen lump of stone just now. That forgotten man up the valley be going to put it on poor Margery Bullstone's grave; and for my part I'm a good deal surprised that parson will suffer such a thing in a Christian burial ground."
"They've just gone round the corner—Adam and him and the cart. He was in here storming against his fate a minute agone."