“Oh, God, help Mark to find the light!”
Then the soul of Mark Carter was shaken to the depths and suddenly his self control which had been so great was broken. His strong shoulders began to shake with sobs, silent, hard sobs of a man who knows he has sinned, and tears, scalding tears from the depths of his self-contained nature.
Marilyn reached her arm out across his shoulders as a mother would try to protect a child, and lifted her face against his, wet with tears and kissed him on his forehead. Then she left him and went quietly out.
“Well,” said Mrs. Harricutt with satisfaction as she walked home after the funeral with Christie McMertrie, “I'm glad to see that Mark Carter has a little proper feeling at last. If he'd showed it sooner his Ma mighta ben in the land of the living yet.”
Christie's stern face grew sterner as she set her teeth and bit her tongue before replying. Then she said with more brrrr than usual in her speech:
“Martha Harricutt, there's na land that's sa livin' as tha land where Mark Carter's mither has ganged tae, but there's them that has mair blame to bear fer her gaein' than her bonny big son, I'm thinkin', an' there's them in this town that agrees with me too, I know full well.”
Down in front of the parsonage the minister had his arm around Mark Carter's shoulders and was urging him:
“Son, come in. We want you. Mother wants you, I want you. Marilyn wants you. Come son, come!”
But Mark steadily refused, his eyes downcast, his face sad, withdrawn: