It had been very like Barnabas to do that—very characteristic both of his strength and his limitations. Well! she, at least, had learned much since then; among other things, perhaps, that the most earnest of preachers is a man first,—and last.
"Ye shall never feel forced to aught, an' I can help it; we'll go on as we did before, if you choose. Only it's not true that any truth is better not 'faced,'" he said finally; and there was a steady self-restraint and patience in his tone that woke Meg's confidence.
The preacher's judgment was not infallible; and she knew that now: his opinions were mixed with strong class and personal prejudices, his very goodness was dashed with fanaticism;—and yet, for all that, he was true to the very core. She had meant to play her part better; but to this man, of all men, she could not offer pretences. Since this was all he asked, he should have it. They would face their mistake together; even that mistake which she had thought it sin against both God and him to own as one.
"Ask what you like then," she said. She could no more give half a confidence than he could give half a heart. "But, as to helping—every one must do his own reaping, unless he is mean enough to try to escape it. I used to fancy that, being father's daughter, I could never do a mean thing, though I've done plenty of rash ones; but one learns." And the reflection of the night's learning deepened the tragedy in her eyes. "One learns that one might be tempted to anything."
What had she been tempted to? The preacher's breath came more quickly with the quickness of the thoughts that flashed through his brain.
She was young and had love to give, and a heart that some one else might have touched, though he could not. If that was the temptation, the nethermost hell was too good for the man who had tempted her. But she was blameless, anyhow; he knew that,—knew it with an absolute certainty he longed to declare.
He would have defended her against herself, reading self-accusation in her tone. God helping him, no hot jealousy should scare or scorch her this time.
"Margaret," he said slowly, "what was the temptation?"
"I told you," she cried. "It was to escape. Oh, Barnabas, we made a great mistake. We have both seen it, I suppose, and repented; but what difference does that make? One may water one's sowing with tears—they don't prevent the harvest! As we sow, we must reap. Even father said so. Granny Dale said worse things than that——" She stopped abruptly.
"Well?"