The pastor had left by the side door, and leaning more heavily than ever upon Madge, they made their way to the house of Thaddeus Finisterre, Madge’s father. They were staying there. They took a private way, by which they were spared the unpleasantness of meeting any of the congregation.
Four minutes took them to the house. Neither of them spoke during the brief journey. For the first time in her life Madge knew what it was to feel the touch of fear. She had married the man by her side knowing comparatively little of his real character and temperament.
“There may be insanity in his family,” she mused, as she walked by his side. She had already told herself that nothing but a temporary touch of madness could have led to his outburst in the church.
Arrived at the house, the pastor went straight to his room, this gave Madge an opportunity to confer with her father and mother a moment.
“His long anxious illness has unsettled his brain a little!” the mother said. “The best thing will be to take no notice, let us all be as cheerful, as much like our ordinary selves, as we can. Then, if we can persuade him to go away to-morrow, I guess the best thing for you to do, Madge, will be to get a good doctor to examine him, and to prescribe for him.”
The dinner-meal which followed, presently, was fairly free of constraint. After dinner Mr. and Mrs. Finisterre slipped away and left the husband and wife to themselves.
Almost immediately the pair were left, the pastor began to abuse the preacher of the morning, and to denounce the teaching of the Lord’s second coming.
“But, my dear,” cried Madge, “it is evidently almost the most prominent doctrine in the New Testament. There are more direct references to it in the New Testament, Mr. Doig said, than to any other revealed doctrine.”
“But its not my doctrine,” snapped the pastor, “not the doctrine of our church. It was scoffed at at our college, when I was a student, and—and—”