"What was it for?" asked Ned, wearily good-natured.
"That is it," wailed poor Alicia, "it is for hats and dresses. And I ought to have paid. And what am I, a minister's wife, to ask him to pay such bills. And my father will not. What am I to do? If I was a bad girl it would be nothing; but I am good, so very good! I cannot face them saying I am bad."
"They would have said you were mad, I suppose, if you had jumped from the bridge just now," said Ned grimly.
Alicia looked at him furtively and wept again.
What a world it was, thought Ned bitterly. Here was a well-educated, deeply-religious girl occupied entirely in thinking what her neighbours would say of her; those neighbours who, in a way, were as responsible as she. For was not humanity, as a whole, responsible for all the deeds of humanity. Was he not, in a way, responsible for his own birth, being as he was, but the outcome of his forefathers? Virtue and vice, honour and dishonour, were they not all hidden in that first Step of dancing Prakrit? So there came to him for once a great humility, a patient acceptance of all the evil in the world as being part of himself.
"I will give you the money, child," he said; "you shall marry the saint and be a saint yourself--why not?"
"I can't--I can't take it," she muttered, for all that holding fast to the purse he gave her; "I can't take it from a stranger."
"A stranger?" he echoed. "Bah! In the beginning, little girl, you and I were one. Remember that in all your little life. As it was in the beginning, is now, and ever shall be, world without end--Amen!"
He stooped and kissed her as he left her at her father's door, and she stood looking after him, wondering if he were indeed a man or a vision. But the money was there. A hundred pounds in notes and three sovereigns. She would send them by the morning's post to Myfanwy Pugh, and then----
Alicia Edwards fell on her knees beside her bed and thanked God for the money.