“Before God, in my heart I know that it is not true.”
“No, no, no,” she said; but the light died out of her eyes, and she stretched a tremulous hand.
“Yes, Aunt Margaret, it is so. For years and years I have been doubting; but I kept on just because it seemed to me the best religion; and—and I would not be driven out of it by her Grace’s laws against my will, like a dog stoned from his kennel.”
“But you are only a lad still,” she said piteously. He laughed a little.
“But I have had the gift of reason and discretion nearly twenty years, a priest would tell me. Besides, Aunt Margaret, I could not be such a—a cur—as to come back without believing. I could never look Isabel in the eyes again.”
“Well, well,” said the old lady, “let us wait and see. Do you intend to be here now for a while?”
“Not while Isabel is like this,” he said. “I could not. I must go away for a while, and then come back and ask her again.”
“When will she decide?”
“She told me by next Easter,” said Hubert. “Oh, Aunt Margaret, pray for us both.”
The light began to glimmer again in her eyes.