He stood like an avenging spirit, pointing towards the door, and the people who had sat there breathless through it all rose quietly and slipped out. Simpson joined them and melted into the crowd. They were awed and hushed.
Only Mrs. Hodges, white as death, and her husband, bowed with grief, remained. A silent party, they walked home together. Not until they were in the house did the woman break down, and then she burst into a storm of passionate weeping as if the pent-up tears of all her stoical life were flowing at once.
“Oh, Fred, Fred,” she cried between her sobs, “I see it all now. I was wrong. I was wrong. But I did it all fur the best. The Lord knows I did it fur the best.”
“I know you did, Aunt Hester, but I wish you could have seen sooner, before the bitterness of death had come into my life.” He felt strangely hard and cold. Her grief did not affect him then.
“Don’t take on so, Hester,” said the old man, but the woman continued to rock herself to and fro and moan, “I did it fur the best, I did it fur the best.” The old man took her in his arms, and after a while she grew more calm, only her sobs breaking the silence.
“I shall go away tomorrow,” said Brent. “I am going out into the world for myself. I’ve been a disgrace to everyone connected with me.”
“Don’t say that about yoreself, Fred; I ain’t a-goin’ to hear it,” said Eliphalet. “You’ve jest acted as any right-thinkin’ man would ’a’ acted. It wouldn’t ’a’ been right fur you to ’a’ struck Brother Simpson, but I’m nearer his age, an’ my hands itched to git a hold o’ him.” The old man looked menacing, and his fist involuntarily clenched.
“ ’Liphalet,” said his wife, “I’ve been a-meddlin’ with the business o’ Providence, an’ I’ve got my jest desserts. I thought I knowed jest what He wanted me to do, an’ I was more ignorant than a child. Furgive me ef you kin, Fred, my boy. I was tryin’ to make a good man o’ you.”
“There’s nothing for me to forgive, Aunt Hester. I’m sorry I’ve spoiled your plans.”
“I’m glad, fur mebbe God’ll have a chance now to work His own plans. But pore little ’Lizabeth!”
Brent’s heart hurt him as he heard the familiar name, and he turned abruptly and went to his room. Once there, he had it out with himself. “But,” he told himself, “if I had the emergency to meet again, I should do the same thing.”
The next morning’s mail brought him a little packet in which lay the ring he had given Elizabeth to plight their troth.
“I thank you for this,” he said. “It makes my way easier.”
Chapter XIV
The story of the altercation between the young minister and a part of his congregation was well bruited about the town, and all united in placing the fault heavily on the young man’s shoulders. As for him, he did not care. He was wild with the enjoyment of his newfound freedom. Only now and again, as he sat at the table the morning after, and looked into the sad faces of Eliphalet and his guardian, did he feel any sorrow at the turn matters had taken.
In regard to Elizabeth, he felt only relief. It was as if a half-defined idea in his mind had been suddenly realised. For some time he had believed her unable either to understand him or to sympathise with his motives. He had begun to doubt the depth of his own feeling for her. Then had come her treatment of him last Sunday, and somehow, while he knew it was at her father’s behest, he could not help despising her weakness.
He had spent much of the night before in packing his few effects, and all was now ready for his departure as they sat at breakfast. Mrs. Hodges was unusually silent, and her haggard face and swollen eyes told how she had passed the night. All in a single hour she had seen the work of the best part of her life made as naught, and she was bowed with grief and defeat. Frederick Brent’s career had really been her dream. She had scarcely admitted, even to herself, how deeply his success affected her own happiness. She cared for him in much the same way that a sculptor loves his statue. Her attitude was that of one who says, “Look upon this work; is it not fair? I made it myself.” It was as much her pride as it was her love that was hurt, because her love had been created by her pride. She had been prepared to say, exultingly, “Look where he came from, and look where he is;” and now his defection deprived her forever of that sweet privilege. People had questioned her ability to train up a boy rightly, and she had wished to refute their imputations, by making that boy the wonder of the community and their spiritual leader; and just as she had deemed her work safely done, lo, it had come toppling about her ears. Even if the fall had come sooner, she would have felt it less. It was the more terrible because so unexpected, for she had laid aside all her fears and misgivings and felt secure in her achievement.
“You ain’t a-eatin’ nothin’, Hester,” said her husband,
