She paused, half out of breath, wondering a little at her own temerity, and, with a look partly of defiance, partly of anxiety, she glanced up into her lover’s face. He was plainly distressed. He felt that their views were so utterly divergent that the discussion could not be continued without endangering the harmony that should prevail between them. Yet it was hard to hold his peace and permit this girl with whom he was so profoundly in love, whose future was to be so irrevocably bound up in his, to enter on a course of which both his conscience and his judgment so heartily disapproved.
“I’m sorry,” he said after a moment’s pause, “more sorry than I can tell you, that we don’t agree in this matter. Unless Mr. Farrar adopts a complete change of policy, I can see serious trouble ahead. And when that trouble comes I should like to have you in harmony with me.”
“And I should like to be in harmony with you, Philip; I should like it dearly; but I can’t afford to stifle my conscience and ignore my reason—not even for you.”
It was plain that her mind was made up, and that neither argument, appeal nor entreaty would move her from the path on which she had set out.
“Well,” said Westgate, “don’t let’s talk about it any more now. The crisis hasn’t come yet. Maybe it won’t come. I hope to heaven it won’t! At any rate there’s no use to-day in our borrowing trouble for to-morrow.”
They walked on in the mild September sunlight, up the hill, by the pleasant streets that bordered on Fountain Park, past homes of ease and luxury, until Ruth’s own home was reached. But a reserve had fallen on them. The first shadow had drifted across their common path and lay impalpably about them. Could it be possible that so slight a shadow as this, deepening and darkening, would eventually so blind their eyes that, unseen each by the other, they would go stumbling and alone, by cruelly divergent paths, toward unknown goals as far apart as the antipodes of eternity?
This was the thought and fear that hugged Westgate’s mind as he strolled back down the hill that day to his mother’s home in the city. And, as he walked, the glory of the day was obscured. Gray clouds dragged their unwelcome bulk across the sun, a chill and hostile wind set the shadowed leaves of the trees to trembling and sighing, and the gloom that forebodes the coming storm settled down upon the earth.
CHAPTER VI
THE VESTRY OBJECTS
The vestry of Christ Church was a conservative body. Not ultra-conservative, but reasonably so; the conservatism that might be expected of successful business men. Nor was it an overly religious body. Some of its members were not, never had been, and never expected to be communicants of the Church. But, as a whole, it was unquestionably and sincerely devoted to the welfare of Christ Church. Possibly the material welfare of the church loomed larger in the eyes of these gentlemen than did its spiritual interests. Be that as it may, they left nothing undone which, in their judgment, it was desirable to do to promote the prosperity of the church of which they were the governing body. They had this purpose in mind when they called the Reverend Robert Bruce Farrar to be their rector. They felt that they were acting with wisdom and foresight. He was certainly a rising young man. He was idolized by the people to whom he had ministered, and he came with a splendid recommendation from the bishop of his diocese. He was understood to be fairly liberal in his social views, but he had, as yet, developed no dangerous tendencies; and it was thought that, in his new environment, there could be no possibility of such development. Since the day of his installation, however, the minds of many of the members of the vestry had undergone a gradual change concerning him. They no longer felt that he was quite safe. And to that feeling the sermons that he had been preaching of late had given a decided impetus. It is true that, up to this time, there had been no serious or open differences between the rector and his vestry. But it was plainly apparent, both to him and to them, that the day was fast approaching when such differences would become acutely developed unless either he changed his course or they changed their opinions. Certain of the vestrymen, in their consultations with each other, on the street, at the club, or in their homes, had deprecated, in rather strong language, the social theories of the rector, and had suggested that it was about time to call a halt. But nothing had been done. Then came the sermon of Sunday, with its strange and radical plea for social equality in the church, and what had been merely a thought in the minds, or a suggestion on the tongues, of certain members of the vestry, suddenly developed into a desire for action. The man had taken the bit in his teeth and was trying to run away with them. It was necessary that something should be done.