“Dorothea,” said Mr. Prong very solemnly;—they were sitting at the time in his own little front parlour, as to the due arrangement of the furniture in which Mrs. Prime had already ventured to make some slight alterations which had not been received favourably by Mr. Prong—“Dorothea, in this matter you must allow me to be the best judge. Voting for Members of Parliament is a thing which ladies naturally are not called upon to understand.”
“Ladies can understand as well as gentlemen,” said Mrs. Prime, “that a curse has gone out from the Lord against that people; and gentlemen have no more right than ladies to go against the will of the Lord.”
It was in vain that Mr. Prong endeavoured to explain to her that the curse attached to the people as a nation, and did not necessarily follow units of that people who had adopted other nationalities.
“Let the units become Christians before they go into Parliament,” said Mrs. Prime.
“I wish they would,” said Mr. Prong. “I heartily wish they would: and Mr. Hart, if he be returned, shall have my prayers.”
But this did not at all suffice for Mrs. Prime, who, perhaps, in the matter of argument had the best of it. She told her betrothed to his face that he was going to commit a great sin, and that he was tempted to this sin by grievous worldly passions. When so informed Mr. Prong closed his eyes, crossed his hands meekly on his breast, and shook his head.
“Not from thee, Dorothea,” said he, “not from thee should this have come.”
“Who is to speak out to you if I am not?” said she.
But Mr. Prong sat in silence, and with closed eyes again shook his head.
“Perhaps we had better part,” said Mrs. Prime, after an interval of five minutes. “Perhaps it will be better for both of us.”
Mr. Prong, however, still shook his head in silence; and it was difficult for a lady in Mrs. Prime’s position to read accurately the meaning of such shakings under such circumstances. But Mrs. Prime was a woman sufficiently versed in the world’s business to be able to resolve that she would have an answer to her question when she required an answer.
“Mr. Prong,” she said, “I remarked just now that perhaps we had better part.”
“I heard the words,” said Mr. Prong—“I heard the cruel words.” But even then he did not open his eyes, or remove his hands from his breast. “I heard the words, and I heard those other words, still more cruel. You had better leave me now that I may humble myself in prayer.”
“That’s all very well, Mr. Prong, and I’m sure I hope you will; but situated as we are, of course I should choose to have an answer. It seems to me that you dislike that kind of interference which I regard as a wife’s best privilege and sweetest duty. If this be so, it will be better for us to part—as friends of course.”
“You have accused me of a great sin,” he said; “of a great sin;—of a great sin!”
“And so in my mind it would be.”
“Judge not, lest ye be judged, Dorothea; remember that.”
“That doesn’t mean, Mr. Prong, that we are not to have our opinions, and that we are not to warn those that are near us when we see them walking in the wrong path. I might as well say the same to you, when you—”
“No, Dorothea; it is my bounden duty. It is my work. It is that to which I am appointed as a minister. If you cannot see the difference I have much mistaken your character—have much mistaken your character.”
“Do you mean to say that nobody but a clergyman is to know what’s right and what’s wrong? That must be nonsense, Mr. Prong. I’m sorry to say anything to grieve you—” Mr. Prong was now shaking his head again, with his eyes most pertinaciously closed—“but there are some things which really one can’t bear.”
But he only shook his head. His inward feelings were too many for him, so that he could not at the present moment bring himself to give a reply to the momentous proposition which his betrothed had made him. Nor, indeed, had he at this moment fixed his mind as to the step which Duty and Wisdom combined would call upon him to take in this matter. The temper of the lady was not certainly all that he had desired. As an admiring member of his flock she had taken all his ghostly counsels as infallible; but now it seemed to him as though most of his words and many of his thoughts and actions were made subject by her to a bitter criticism. But in this matter he was inclined to rely much upon his own strength. Should he marry the lady, as he was still minded to do for many reasons, he would be to her a loving, careful husband; but he would also be her lord and master—as was intended when marriage was made a holy ordinance. In this respect he did not doubt himself or his own powers. Hard words he could bear, and, as he thought, after a time control. So thinking, he was not disposed to allow the lady to recede from her troth to him, simply because in her anger she expressed a wish to do so. Therefore he had wisely been silent, and had shaken his head in reproach. But unfortunately the terms of their compact had not been finally settled with reference to another heading. Mrs. Prime had promised to be his wife, but she had burdened her promise with certain pecuniary conditions which were distasteful to him—which were much opposed to that absolute headship and perfect mastery, which, as he thought, should belong to the husband as husband. His views on this subject were very strong, and he was by no means inclined to abate one jot of his demand. Better
