"Mr. Wingfold and Mr. Drew. They are often here."
"Is it—do you mean Mr. Drew, the draper?"
"Yes. He is one of Mr. Wingfold's best pupils. He brought him to my uncle, and he has come often ever since."
"I never heard that—Mr. Wingfold—took pupils.—I am afraid I do not quite understand you.
"I would have said DISCIPLES," returned Rachel smiling; "but that has grown to feel such a sacred word—as if it belonged only to the Master, that I didn't like to use it. It would say best what I mean though; for there are people in Glaston that are actually mending their ways because of Mr. Wingfold's teaching, and Mr. Drew was the first of them. It is long since such a thing was heard of in the Abbey. It never was in my time."
Helen sighed. She wished it had remained possible for her also to become one of Mr. Wingfold's pupils, but how could she now when she had learned that what he had to teach was at best but a lovely phantasm, sprung of the seething together of the conscience and imagination. George could give account of the whole matter: religion invariably excited the imagination and weakened the conscience;—witness the innumerable tales concerning Jesus invented in the first of the Christian centuries, and about this and that saint in those that followed! Helen's experience in Leopold's case had certainly been different, but the other fact remained. Alas, she could not be a pupil of Mr. Wingfold! She could no longer deceive herself with such comfort. And yet!—COME UNTO ME, AND I WILL GIVE YOU REST.
"I do wish I could hear them," she said.
"And why not?" returned Rachel. "There is not one of them would not be glad to see you. I know that."
"I am afraid I should hinder their talk. Would they speak just as freely as if I were not there? Not that I know why they shouldn't," she added; "only the presence of any stranger—"
"You are no stranger to Mr. Wingfold or my uncle," said Rachel, "and
I daresay you know Mr. Drew?"