Part 30 (1/2)

”Excuse me,” she said coldly; ”I saw a light quite five minutes ago.”

”Oh yes!” he apologised. ”I remember. When I came up the cellar steps.”

”I dare say you think it's very queer of me,” she continued.

”Not at all,” he said quickly.

”Yes you do,” she bitterly insisted. ”But I want to know. Did you mean it when you said--you know, at supper--that there's no virtue in believing?”

”Did I say there was no virtue in believing?” he stammeringly demanded.

”Of course you did!” she remonstrated. ”Do you mean to say you can say a thing like that and then forget about it? If it's true, it's one of the most wonderful things that were ever said. And that's why I wanted to know if you meant it or whether you were only saying it because it sounded clever. That's what they're always doing in that house, you know, being clever!” Her tone was invariably harsh.

”Yes,” he said simply, ”I meant it. Why?”

”You did?” Her voice seemed to search for insincerity. ”Well, thank you. That's all. It may mean a new life to me. I'm always trying to believe; always! Aren't you?”

”I don't know,” he mumbled. ”How do you mean?”

”Well--you know!” she said, as if impatiently smas.h.i.+ng his pretence of not understanding her. ”But perhaps you do believe?”

He thought he detected scorn for a facile believer. ”No,” he said, ”I don't.”

”And it doesn't worry you? Honestly? Don't be clever! I hate that!”

”No,” he said.

”Don't you ever think about it?”

”No. Not often.”

”Charlie does.”

”Has he told you?” (”So she talks to the Sunday too!” he reflected.)

”Yes; but of course I quite see why it doesn't worry you--if you honestly think there's no virtue in believing.”

”Well,” said Edwin. ”Is there?” The more he looked at it through her eyes, the more wonderful profundities he discovered in that remark of his, which at the time of uttering it had appeared to him a simple plat.i.tude. It went exceedingly deep in many directions.

”I hope you are right,” she replied. Her voice shook.

FIVE.

There was silence. To ease the strain of his self-consciousness Edwin stepped down from the stone floor of the porch to the garden. He felt rain. And he noticed that the sky was very much darker.

”By Jove!” he said. ”It's beginning to rain, I do believe.”

”I thought it would,” she answered.

A squall of wind suddenly surged rustling through the high trees in the garden of the Orgreaves, and the next instant threw a handful of wild raindrops on his cheek.