Old sap, or night-fallen dew, has damped the fuel;
In vain my breath would flame provoke;
Yet see—at every poor attempt's renewal
To Thee ascends the smoke.
'Tis all I have—smoke, failure, foiled endeavor,
Coldness, and doubt, and palsied lack;
Such as I have I send Thee;—perfect Giver,
Send Thou Thy lightning back.
In the morning, as soon as breakfast was over, Helen's ponies were brought to the door, she and Juliet got into the carriage, Wingfold jumped up behind, and they returned to Glaston. Little was said on the way, and Juliet seemed strangely depressed. They left her at her own door.
"What did that look mean?" said Wingfold to his wife, the moment they were round the corner of Mr. Drew's shop.
"You saw it then?" returned Helen. "I did not think you had been so quick."
"I saw what I could not help taking for relief," said the curate, "when the maid told her that her husband was not at home."
They said no more till they reached the rectory, where Helen followed her husband to his study.
"He can't have turned tyrant already!" she said, resuming the subject of
Juliet's look. "But she's afraid of him."
"It did look like it," rejoined her husband. "Oh, Helen, what a hideous thing fear of her husband must be for a woman, who has to spend not her days only in his presence, but her nights by his side! I do wonder so many women dare to be married. They would need all to have clean consciences."
"Or no end of faith in their husbands," said Helen. "If ever I come to be afraid of you, it will be because I have done something very wrong indeed."