Wherefore, he sent to Natalie his pamphlet, entitled, "Dr. Burley's True Meaning," not sorry that she should see how clearly and uncompromisingly he could state matters which others had been willing to obscure. The true meaning of the Confession, and, therefore, of the Bible, and, therefore, of the learned biblical scholar whose text Leonard illuminated, was that the majority of mankind was on the way to a hell, eternal, and of torture inconceivable.
The pamphlet was relentless, as was proper; but in his accompanying letter to his wife Leonard was very tender. He showed her that there was but one course to pursue in the face of indisputable truth, and that was resignation to the will of heaven. Weak humanity might grieve over God's will; such sorrow was certainly pardonable by man, but was nevertheless rebellion; and, before complete reconciliation to God could be assumed, must be dismissed from the heart. Leaving religion, he proceeded to tell his wife that his longing for her was growing absolutely insupportable, and he was much more fervid in his petition that she hasten her return home than he had been in his doctrinal expositions. He dispatched his letter, and returned to his former avocations, but with little spirit; he longed for Natalie, and had no room for other than the thoughts that accompanied his longing. In a few days he was able to start for home, Natalie having, in a very short letter, in which she made no comment on the one he had last written, announced her arrival in Hampton by a train due there a few minutes later than the one from New York by which he traveled, and when he finally alighted at the station, he was tremulous with anticipation, and his disappointment was proportionate when the Newport train arrived with none of the expected travelers.
There was nothing to do but to bear a revulsion of feeling, which was actually painful. He walked across the Square to his home, and found the maids with everything prepared for his arrival, and with a letter from Natalie which informed him that she would be in Hampton on the following morning.
He went early to bed, discontented and fretful. He slept badly, and in the night got up and wandered restlessly about, and in his wanderings made a discovery which might have remained unnoticed had the fancies which vexed his repose been of a different character.
After the birth of her child, Natalie had occupied a room separate from her husband's, in order that the latter, whose literary labors were exacting, should not be disturbed. In his prowling Leonard discovered evidences that this arrangement was to be continued, and as he stood in the gaslight considering the tokens whereby he inferred that one room was reserved for masculine, the other for feminine occupancy, he mentally pronounced the arrangement unsatisfactory, and experienced a feeling of vexation amounting to resentment.
But resentment gave way when, next morning, having seen Mrs. Joe and Paula drive away to Stormpoint, and having followed Natalie to the room which he had inspected the night before with dissatisfaction, he once more held her in his arms. The light that gleamed from her eyes, the roseate hue upon her feverish cheeks, the rich red lips upon which he pressed his own hungrily—the beautiful reality, fairer than the fairest vision of his hours of longing, banished every thought but one.
He held her long in a close embrace. He was very happy, and when she had withdrawn from his arms he sat upon the edge of the bed telling her of his disappointment of the day before, and of his nocturnal prowlings, and laughingly advancing his objections to the sleeping arrangements she had ordered. Meanwhile, she said but little, being engaged in searching for something in her trunk. At length she found whatever she had been seeking. "Leonard," she said, "go down to the library. I must speak to you, but not here."
The manner and the tone puzzled him—then he remembered. He sighed involuntarily. It was an inopportune moment to discuss conversion—but since she was in its throes——He went downstairs; his face betrayed vexation.
Soon she entered the room where he awaited her, seated in a big chair. She knelt before him, taking his hand in hers. "Leonard," she said, "I am sorry you don't like the arrangement of the bedrooms."
Her solemnity had led him to expect something of greater importance than this, which was, however, decidedly a more welcome topic. "You know, dearest," he said, with a quizzical look, "as husband and wife——"