She made me no answer, but went on sobbing.
I hastened home, and as I entered sent Walter to ask the loan of a horse which a gentleman, a neighbour, had placed at my disposal.
When I went into the dining-room, I found that they had not sat down to dinner. I expostulated: it was against the rule of the house, when my return was uncertain.
“But, my love,” said my wife, “why should you not let us please ourselves sometimes? Dinner is so much nicer when you are with us.”
“I am very glad you think so,” I answered. “But there are the children: it is not good for growing creatures to be kept waiting for their meals.”
“You see there are no children; they have had their dinner.”
“Always in the right, wife; but there’s Mr. Percivale.”
“I never dine till seven o’clock, to save daylight,” he said.
“Then I am beaten on all points. Let us dine.”
During dinner I could scarcely help observing how Percivale’s eyes followed Wynnie, or, rather, every now and then settled down upon her face. That she was aware, almost conscious of this, I could not doubt. One glance at her satisfied me of that. But certain words of the apostle kept coming again and again into my mind; for they were winged words those, and even when they did not enter they fluttered their wings at my window: “Whatsoever is not of faith is sin.” And I kept reminding myself that I must heave the load of sin off me, as I had been urging poor Mrs. Stokes to do; for God was ever seeking to lift it, only he could not without my help, for that would be to do me more harm than good by taking the one thing in which I was like him away from me—my action. Therefore I must have faith in him, and not be afraid; for surely all fear is sin, and one of the most oppressive sins from which the Lord came to save us.