“‘To give light to them that sit in darkness and in the shadow of death, to guide our feet into the way of peace.’”
As he read a hush fell upon us. It seemed suddenly as if our conventional impulse to see Enid’s baby christened was an affair of more radiant import than we had meant. From the words of exhortation that followed I was roused by a touching of garments, and I looked up to see a trim, embroidered maid holding the baby toward Hobart Eddy. The moment for his service as godfather was come. As he held out his arms he questioned Enid briefly with his eyes, and then earnestly gave himself to establishing the little man and brother in a curve of elbow. It was after all, I suppose him to have been reflecting, as sternly required of a man that he be an efficient godfather as that he perfectly fill all the other offices of a man of the world. I even suspected him of a downward glance to be assured that the soft skirts were gracefully in place, quite as if he were arranging tableaux vivants. Thereafter he stood erect, with his complaisant passivity of look, as perfectly the social automaton as if the baby were a cup of tea. Really, to accept dear Hobart Eddy as godfather was rather like filling a champagne glass with cream.
“What shall be the name of this child?” once more demanded the bishop.
“Philip Wentworth,” prompted the young father a second time, presenting a serious, young-father profile to the world.
The bishop waited.
“Philip Wentworth,” obediently repeated Hobart Eddy with, I dare be sworn, the little deferential stooping of the shoulders with which I had seen him return many and many a fan.
The bishop, his face filled with that shining which even in gravity seemed sweeter than the smile of another, fixed his deep eyes upon the godfather, and when he spoke it was as if he were saying the words for the first time, to the guardian of the first child:—
“‘Dost thou, in the name of this Child, renounce ... the vain pomp and glory of this world, with all covetous desires of the same, and the sinful desires of the flesh, so that thou wilt not follow nor be led by them?’”
Hobart, his eyes fixed on the open prayer-book which he held, read the response quickly and clearly:
“‘I renounce them all, and by God’s help I will endeavour not to follow or be led by them.’”