Next morning he arose early, and seemed in better spirits than he had been for some time. He told his sister that he was going to walk over to Foxglove Manor, and was not certain as to when he would return. He left the house, humming a tune, and set out at a brisk pace through the village. The weather was bright and inspiriting. The country never before seemed so full of health and gladness and joyous life. The lark was singing far up in the shining blue sky; butterflies went fluttering across the road; whirring flights of birds along the hedgerows preceded him all the way. He looked at everything and noticed everything—the bright flowers growing among the wayside weeds; the snail which had crept on to the footpath, and whose shell he carefully avoided. He observed too much to think; but one thought, underlying this discursive activity of mind, kept him company all the while—“I have struggled and prayed; I have tried to believe and to trust; I can do no more. If there be a God who is concerned in man, let him now give evidence of His providence.”
When he reached the Manor, he was ushered into the reception-room, where he was not kept long waiting. Mrs. Haldane entered the apartment, and received him with a chilling courtesy. She noticed that, though he had advanced eagerly at her entrance, he had not offered her his hand; and now that she had bowed to him with a certain constrained grace, he stood regarding her hesitatingly.
“I have come,” he said at last, in a low, nervous voice, “to throw myself on your mercy, to beg your forgiveness, to ask you once more to restore me your confidence and friendship.”
“I freely forgive you, Mr. Santley,” she replied at once. “It is better that what has taken place should be forgiven and forgotten as speedily as possible. But my confidence and friendship! How can I trust you any more? And I did trust and esteem you so much. I regarded you—— But I will not even reproach you with having destroyed my idealization of you.”
“Reproach me and censure me as you will,” he cried earnestly; “but do not cast me away from you, do not be heartlessly indifferent to me. It lies in your hands to make my life happy or miserable. It depends on you whether I can live at all.”
“That cannot be,” replied Mrs. Haldane, shaking her head gravely.
“It is and must be,” said the vicar. “All my future, both here and hereafter, hangs on your decision now. I have fought with myself, and prayed to God to be delivered from my bondage; but it is in vain. No answer has been vouchsafed to my supplications; no grace, no strength has been granted in my need. Had I prayed to the deaf impersonal power which your husband believes in, I could not have been more hopelessly unheard or unheeded. The conflict is over. I am the gladiator fallen in the arena, and it rests with you to give the signal of reprieve or destruction.”
“I do not understand you, Mr. Santley,” she said, feeling alarmed and excited. “What do you ask? What would you have me do?”
“Oh, what would I have you do!” he exclaimed passionately; then, checking himself abruptly, he continued eagerly, “I would have you be as you were before I offended you. I would have you forgive my offence.”
“I have promised to forgive and forget it,” said Mrs. Haldane.