The question caught him by surprise; it was uppermost in his thoughts, this hateful theme; but then how should she know it? He lost the self-possession he had been trying to maintain, the dignity of his judicial character broke down completely; he was now merely a kind-hearted man, a husband and father it is true, but for the moment those domestic ties were not like a fetter on him.
"I require no such evidence of your loyalty, Mrs. Edgar," he said,—"no evidence whatever."
"But—does not the church?"
This question was asked with a little faltering, asked for his sake; for evidently some knowledge he had, and had to communicate, that embarrassed him almost to the making of speech impossible.
"The church! No,—it is too late for that!"
And now he had thrown down the hateful truth. There it lay at the feet of the woman who at this moment assumed to the preacher's imagination a more than saint's virtue, a more than angel's beauty.
"What then?" she said. "What next, Mr. Muir? Do they want my resignation?"
"Yes."
Mr. Muir said this with a humbled, deprecating gesture of the hand. At the same time bowed his head.
"I commission you to carry it," she said.