“Mr. Marchmont has left you then?”
“Yes, he started for London this morning.”
“I knew it was to be soon. He came to say good-bye a few days ago. I was greatly pleased by the talk we had on that occasion.”
Bride looked up quickly.
“I did not know Eustace had been to see you.”
“Yes, he came and sat above two hours with me. We had a most interesting conversation. I almost wish you had been there to hear.”
Bride was silent. She would not ask the nature of the conversation. She knew that Mr. St. Aubyn would tell her all that he felt at liberty to reveal.
Presently he spoke again, a slight smile playing on his lips.
“Long ago, as you know, we had a talk, part of which you overheard, in which Mr. Marchmont betrayed how deeply the philosophy of the destructive rationalists had eaten into his soul. I told him then that he would never be able to rest where he was; that even the philosophers and students who had been so glad to destroy were already finding rest impossible, and were beginning a constructive form of rationalism, in which scope was allowed for an objective as well as a subjective Divinity, and a semblance of Christian faith creeping back, because men invariably find at last that they cannot do without it, although they too often content themselves with half-truths, or very small fragments of the whole truth. Well, he did not agree with me then; but it is wonderful what this year has done for his spiritual life. It is like talking to another man. It was wonderfully inspiring to mark the work of the Spirit in that heart. But I dare say you have found that out for yourself.”
There were tears of joy in Bride’s eyes. She did not turn her head as she answered—