James passed his hand over his forehead.
“Perhaps I am wrong . . . I don’t know. My head’s in a muddle after the other night. I can’t think.”
“Miss Eva,” said M‘Crae, “get everything ready quickly. Five minutes . . .”
M‘Crae turned to James. “Man,” he said, “do you realise the awful responsibility that you’re taking upon yourself in the sin of your pride? Would you see what you saw the other night, and your sister in it?”
For the moment he was very Scotch, and the actual intensity of his words made them impressive. . . . Some peculiar quality in this appeal made James crumple up.
“God forgive me,” he sobbed. “God forgive me. . . . You had better take her. If it is to be, the sooner the better . . .”
“Very well then,” said M‘Crae. “Hurry up and get some clothes on. You can’t set out in pyjama legs and a black coat. Let me help you if you are weak.”
By this time the pitiful figure had got over his sobs. Once more he was formal and precise. He spoke very much as if he were conducting a Pleasant Sunday Afternoon at home.
“You have mistaken me, Mr. M‘Crae,” he said. “I have given you my authority to take my sister. You realise, no doubt, the trust which that implies, and that we are quite in your hands. But my own position is quite different. Perhaps you do not know what religion means to a man, or how a man in my position regards his mission. I was sent to Africa to devote myself to these unfortunate people. I have a responsibility. If the devil has entered into their hearts this is the occasion in which they need me most. You spoke just now a little contemptuously of Scripture . . . I am a minister, and perhaps it means more to me. At any rate these words, if you’ll have the patience to hear me, mean a great deal: ‘He that is an hireling, and not the shepherd, whose own the sheep are not, seeth the wolf coming and leaveth the sheep and fleeth.’ You know who spoke those words. Mine must be the part of the good shepherd. If I behaved as a hireling I could not bear to live.”