Hamlin remained silent. She continued, more calmly:
"I can't bring myself to go church along, although I'd be pleased to oblige you, sir."
"It is no question of obliging me, Mrs. Yellam. Aren't you adding to your heavy burden instead of sharing it with One Who laid it upon you and Who alone can lighten it?"
Grievously she shook her head. Hamlin took his leave. As he walked away, he muttered to himself: "Civil War—devastating Civil War raging in that poor old heart."
He returned to the Vicarage with his mind dwelling upon the eternal conflict, a conflict accentuated by the world-war, because its issues seemed to enrich or impoverish everybody. By it, without a doubt, Susan Yellam had been impoverished. He himself was conscious of enrichment. But—he had not lost a son. He had five children.
After tea Fancy cycled down, as usual, to the Yellam cottage. Solomon received her boisterously. She made sure that good news awaited her. A glance at Mrs. Yellam's set face put to flight her hopes. No news had come. Mrs. Yellam greeted the girl perfunctorily, and then said sharply:
"Have you brought 'em?"
"Yes," said Fancy.
She took from a small hand-bag a much-used pack of cards. Mrs. Yellam had cleared a space upon the kitchen-table.
"Set 'em out," she commanded.