"This puts an end to my morning bath," he said to himself, with a faint sigh. "I can have no excuse for going into the sea on a day like this," and he sighed again.
He was not quite sure that he welcomed the respite.
"Since it must be," he kept saying to himself, "the sooner the better."
Mrs. Tuke greeted him with a sorrowful face. "What a pity the weather's broke before all the harvest is got in," she said.
"It does seem a pity," he answered, quietly.
"The ways of Providence is past finding out," she replied; "though no doubt it's for some good end."
"Do you really think that Providence regulates the weather, Mrs. Tuke?" he questioned, with a smile.
"Why, of course I do," she answered, in a tone of reproach. "Providence over-rules everything, and not a sparrow falls to the ground without the notice of His eye," and she walked out of the room without waiting for him to answer.
Mrs. Tuke's theology was a puzzle to him still, but all the time he sat at breakfast the word "Providence" kept echoing through the chambers of his brain. What was Providence? How far did God interfere with the operation of His own laws? Did He sometimes reach out a controlling hand? Did He cause events to work together for a special end?
That day at the mine seemed one of the longest he had known. The wind moaned through every crevice of door and window, the rain came down unceasingly.