His hands trembled as he continued to thrum upon the strings. How could he turn against the Church? He thought of his parents, and remembered what noble lives they had led, and the peace and comfort they had received through that very Church which he was now on the verge of opposing. Then his mind flashed to Beryl. Beryl! What a vision rose before him. How could he deny the Church of which she was such a devoted member? What did all the sham and pretence amount to in comparison with her! A Church which could produce such characters as his parents and Beryl, how could he fight against it?
By this time the Indians were becoming restless. They were talking among themselves, and although Martin could not understand what they were saying, it was not hard for him to detect a distinct note of anger. This brought him to himself, and put an end to his indecision. He thought of the Bishop's words, and a scornful laugh broke from his lips, as he rose from the stool on which he had been sitting, and laid the violin upon the table. What a fool he had been, he told himself, for having wavered even for an instant. Why should he teach these natives the hymns of the Church? If he began now there would be no end. They would come every day, demanding more. No, it should not be. It was far better not to begin, no matter how angry the Indians might be.
When the natives understood that the white man would not play for them, and that the instructions for the day were ended, they departed surly and dejected. But Martin did not care what they said or thought. He had made up his mind to oppose the Church, and he was not to be turned aside any more. Twice, at least, during the past year he had been weak, and had given way, but it must never happen again.
That night after the simple supper was over, the few dishes washed and put away, Nance climbed upon Martin's knee.
"Tell me about the beautiful flower, please," she pleaded, laying her head contentedly against his shoulder.
"What flower, dear? Heart's Ease?"
"No, not that one now. The other one, you know, which could sing so lovely."
"Oh!" Martin caught his breath. He was surprised that Nance should make such a request when he had been thinking so much about Beryl all through the day.
"Why do you wish to hear about her, little one?" he asked after a pause.
"'Cause I like her. I think about her so much, and how pretty she must be."