“It just won’t do for you and me to be so safe from all the storm and wind,” Mark went on, “wrapped in God’s cloak, and poor Corney out in the wind and rain. You may say it’s his own fault—it’s because he won’t let God take up and carry him. That’s very true, but then that’s just the pity of it! It is all so dreadful! I can’t understand it!”

The boy could understand good, but was perplexed with evil.

While they talked in their comfortable nest, there was one out in the wind and rain, all but exhausted, who hastened with what poor remaining strength she had to do His will. Amy, left at the station with an empty purse, had set out to walk through the wet darkness, up hill and down dale to find her husband—the man God had given her to look after.

—Forty-Five —

Vengeance is Mine

That same morning, Mr. Raymount had found it, or had chosen to imagine it necessary, to start early in the day for the county town on something he called business, and was not expected home before the next day. In his absence Cornelius went freely wandering about the house, lunching with his mother, Hester and Saffy like one of the family.

His mother, wisely or not, did her best to prevent his feeling different from old times. Their conversation at the table was neither very interesting nor very satisfactory. How could it be? A child of Satan might just as well be happy in the house of God, as the unrepentant Cornelius in the house of his mother, even in the absence of his father. Their talk was poor and intermittent. Well might the youth long for his garret and the company of the wife who had nothing for him but smiles and sweetest attentions!

After dinner he sat alone for a while at the table. He had been ordered wine during his recovery and was already in danger of adding a fondness for it to his other weaknesses. But the mother, wise and aware of the danger, had kept the administration of the medicine in her own hands. Today, however, she had been called from the room and had not put away the decanter. Thus Cornelius had filled his glass repeatedly without interruption. When his mother reentered the room, she noticed the nearly empty decanter, but thought it better to say nothing.

Cornelius tried to conceal the effects of the wine as he left the room, sauntering into the library and then into the study, where his father’s collection of books was kept. He lit a lamp, took down a volume of poetry, threw himself into his father’s chair, and began to read. He had never been able to read long without weariness, and from the wine he had drunk and his weakness, he was presently overcome with sleep. His mother came and went, but would not disturb him. I fear that her satisfaction in having him under her roof was beginning to wane from the constant stress of a presence that showed no more signs of growth than a dead man. But her faith was strong and she waited in hope.