"The penance will be ten times greater on my part, believe me."
Robert fancied him to be referring to some idea of mocking the interposition of religion.
"Then we'll go to Upton Church," he said. "I don't mind it at Upton."
"I intend to go to the church attended by 'The Family,' as we say in our parts; and you must come with me to Warbeach."
Clasping one hand across his forehead, Robert cried, "You couldn't ask me to do a thing I hate so much. Go, and sit, and look sheepish, and sing hymns with the people I've been badgering; and everybody seeing me! How can it be anything to you like what it is to me?"
"You have only to take my word for it that it is, and far more," said Major Waring, sinking his voice. "Come; it won't do you any harm to make an appointment to meet your conscience now and then. You will never be ruled by reason, and your feelings have to teach you what you learn. At any rate, it's my request."
This terminated the colloquy upon that topic. Robert looked forward to a penitential Sabbath-day.
"She is a widow still," thought Major Waring, as he stood alone in his bed-room, and, drawing aside the curtains of his window, looked up at the white moon.
CHAPTER XXIV
When the sun takes to shining in winter, and the Southwest to blowing, the corners of the earth cannot hide from him—the mornings are like halls full of light. Robert had spent his hopes upon a wet day that would have kept the congregation sparse and the guests at Fairly absent from public devotions.