Lord Dunseveric returned to the dining-room. He found the Comtesse
seated on a chair which had been placed on the table to give dignity to
her position. On the floor, beneath this lofty throne, knelt Neal
Ward, his hands tied behind him with a dinner napkin. Maurice, with a
carving-knife in his hand, stood on guard over the prisoner. Una, her
eyes shining with laughter, was making a speech.
“Please, don’t interrupt,” said the Comtesse, “we are holding a
courtmartial on Mr. Neal. Una is acting as prosecutor; I am the judge.
In a few minutes, when I have delivered my sentence, Maurice will flog
the prisoner, and afterwards hang him with one of the bell ropes.”
“I want to speak to you, Neal,” said Lord Dunseveric, gravely.
Neal pulled his hands from their bandage, and rose, blinking and
uncomfortable, to his feet.
“How solemn you are!” said the Comtesse. “What has that very boorish
Captain Twinely been telling you? Has a rebellion broken out? Is there
going to be a battle? Have they come to arrest Mr. Neal in real earnest?
I believe they have. Never mind, Mr. Neal, we will organise a rescue
party. They are not real soldiers, you know--only---only--what do you
call them?--ah, yes, yeomen. We will fall upon these yeomen after dark
and carry you off to safety.”
“Maurice,” said Lord Dunseveric, “have two horses saddled, and get on
your boots. I shall want you to ride along with me. Come, Neal.”
The three men left the room.
“Una,” said the Comtesse, “come quick and change your dress. We will go
and see what is happening. Oh, this is most exciting, and the day has
been so dull and long. Come, Una, come; we will not let anyone see
us. We will take the most delightful short cuts. We will lie hidden in
ditches while they pass. We must see everything. Come, come, come.”
“But--my father----”
“Oh, you dear dutiful child! Just for once don’t mind about your father.
I am sure something thrilling is going to happen. Haven’t you a duty
of obedience towards your aunt? I cannot go without you, for I should
certainly lose my way.”
The arrival of Captain Twinely, Lord Dun-severic’s grave face, and his
summons to Neal had filled Una’s mind with an undefined dread of some
threatening evil. She was nearly as anxious as her aunt to know what
was to happen. The prospect of a scamper across country through the
rain daunted her very little. She had no doubt of her ability to keep in
touch with the horsemen without being discovered. They would keep to the
high road. To her every short cut was known, every hill for observation,
and every possible hiding-place were as familiar to her as the lawn of
Dunseveric House.
Lord Dunseveric led the way to his own dressing-room, beckoning Neal to
follow him.
“Sit down, Neal,” he said, “and listen. I must talk while I boot and
change my coat. This Twinely, who takes rank as a captain of yeomen, and
has, as I suppose, a following of blackguards, brings me orders which I
cannot disobey--at least which I mean to disobey in only one particular.
I am bidden to search your father’s meeting-house for cannon supposed
to be concealed there. I am going to search, and search thoroughly. Your
answer will make no difference to my action; but I should like you to
tell me, are the cannon there?”
“I do not believe there are any cannon,” said Neal; “I never heard of
them, or had any reason to suspect their existence.”
Lord Dunseveric watched him keenly as he replied. Then he said--
“I believe what you say, of course. If there are cannon there you know
nothing of it. Now, another question. I am to arrest several persons
whose names have been sent to me; your name stands second on the list.
Are you a United Irishman? Have you sworn the oath?”
“No,” said Neal, without hesitation. “I have not sworn. I have not been
enrolled as one of the society.”
“I may take it that the Government has acted on false information in
ordering your arrest?”
“Yes. The man who gave that information certainly lied. I knew nothing
of the plans of the United Irishmen yesterday, but it is right that I
should tell you----”
“It is not right that you should tell me anything more. You have
answered my two questions. I have your word for it that you are not a
United Irishman, and I have your word that the information received by
the Government is false. I want to hear no more on that subject. I shall
take the responsibility of refusing to arrest you. I am also bidden to
arrest your father. I ask you no questions about him. I simply inform
you that I am not going to arrest him either. I do not believe in his
innocence. I think it likely that he is implicated in the conspiracy,
but I am not going to arrest him. He is too old to fight, and when
the other three men on my list are in prison he will have ceased to be
dangerous. Further, your father, in his writings, has attacked, and, in
my opinion, slandered me personally.”
“You mean in the _Northern Star?_”
“Yes. In the series of articles called ‘_Letters of a Democrat,_’ which
are attributed, I think rightly, to your father.”
Lord Dunseveric paused. Neal remained silent. He had not read the
articles, but he believed his father had attacked the landlord
aristocracy with great bitterness, and he thought it likely that Lord
Dunseveric had cause for complaint.
“I do not choose,” said Lord Dunseveric, “to take part in the arrest of
a man who may be regarded as my personal enemy. You may tell your father
this, and you may tell him further that if he is a wise man he will
leave the country at once. The next magistrate charged with his arrest
may not have my scruples or my reasons for hesitating. Now, listen to
me, Neal, before I leave you, and mark what I say. I admit, and I always
have admitted, the justice of the claims which your people make. There
ought to be equality, full and complete, for you and the Catholics.
There ought to be an end to the tyranny under which you suffer, but
you are going the wrong way about getting your wrongs righted. Your
rebellion, if there is to be a rebellion, can’t succeed. You will be
crushed. And Neal, lad, that crushing will be an evil business. It will
be evil for you and your friends, but that’s not all. It will be made an
excuse for taking away the hard won liberty of Ireland. Keep out of
it, Neal. Take my advice, and keep out of it, for your own sake and for
Ireland’s.”
He took the young man’s hand, wrung it, and then turned and left the
room. Neal stood for a while dazed and bewildered. He had known before
that his father was a supporter of the United Irishmen. He had guessed,
though until that morning he had not actually known, how deeply he was
versed in the secrets of the society. He had never imagined that the
doings and sayings of an obscure Presbyterian minister were being
watched and noted by Government spies. He found it hard to realise that
the eyes of remote authorities, of secretaries of state, of generals of
armies, were fixed on the wind-swept, desolate, northern parish, on
the gaunt, grey manse he called his home. Yet the evidence of this
incredible surveillance was plain and unmistakable. Men of his father’s
congregation, men whom he supposed he knew personally, were to be
seized and marched off, to be flogged perhaps as others had been, to be
imprisoned certainly, to be hanged very likely, in the end. His father
was a marked man, with the choice before him of exile or imprisonment,
perhaps death. He himself was suspected, had been informed against, lied
about, by someone. His mind flew back to the list of names he had copied
out that morning, to the one name which had arrested his attention
especially. He remembered that James Finlay owed him a grudge, desired
revenge; he felt sure that James Finlay was the informer. Others might
have betrayed the secrets of the society. James Finlay alone, so far as
he could recollect, had any motive for incriminating him, an entirely
innocent man.
He was roused from his thoughts by the sound of horses trampling on the
gravel sweep outside. The yeomen, summoned from Ballintoy, had arrived
at Dunseveric House. They were laughing, talking, and singing as they
rode, a disorderly mob of horsemen rather than a troop of soldiers.
After a few minutes they rode past the window again. Captain Twinely was
at their head. Ten or twelve yards in front of him, as if disdainful of
his company, rode Lord Dunseveric and Maurice.
They were wrapped in long horsemen’s cloaks, for the rain beat down on
them. The wind was rising, and blew in strong gusts. The sun had set and
the evening was beginning to darken. Neal ran down to the hall, seized
his coat and stick, and went out. The horsemen moved along the avenue
at a steady trot. Neal saw them turn to the right and go along the road
which led to the manse and the meeting-house. He started to run across
the fields. He hoped to reach the manse and warn his father before
the soldiers arrived at the meeting-house. He ran fast, choosing the
shortest and easiest way, avoiding boggy patches of ground which would
have checked his progress. After a while, from a point of vantage, he
was able to catch a glimpse of the road. He noted that he was level with
the yeomen, and he knew that from the point where he saw them the road
took a wide curve inland. He calculated that by running fast he would be
able to cross it in front of the troop, and by keeping along the cliffs
would be able to reach the manse before the soldiers did. He sped
forward. Suddenly, as he descended the hill to the road, he became aware
of two figures crouching behind the bank which divided the road from
the field. He was dimly aware that they were women. He did not look
carefully at them. His eyes were fixed on the horsemen against whom he
was racing. He gained the edge of the field and sprang upon the bank. He
heard his name called softly.
“Neal, Neal, Neal Ward.”
Then somewhat louder by another voice.
“Mr. Neal, come and help us.”
He recognised Una’s voice and then that of the Comtesse. He had no time
to think what they wanted or how they came to be crouching in a damp
ditch in the rain while the evening darkened over them. He leaped from
the bank, crossed the road, and raced off again towards his father’s
house.
He arrived at the door, breathless, but sure that he was in good time.
He burst into the sitting-room and found his father and uncle, their
lamp already lighted, bending over a pile of papers which lay before
them on the table.
“The soldiers, the yeomen, are on their way here,” he gasped.
Micah Ward started to his feet.
“What do you say?”
“The yeomen are on their way to the meetinghouse. They are going to
search for arms, for cannon, which they say are concealed there.”
Micah Ward stood stock still. His body seemed to have become suddenly
rigid. His face grew quite white. Donald, leaning back in his chair,
smiled slightly.
“So,” he said, “they have begun. Are there cannon there, brother?”
“Yes, there are,” said Micah, slowly. “Four six-pounders. They belonged
to the Volunteers. We kept them. We thought they might be useful some
day.”
“Ah,” said Donald, “it’s a pity. We shall have the trouble of
re-capturing them. Come, let us go down to the meeting-house. I should
like to see these terrible yeomen.”
“Some one has given them information,” said Micah. He was silent for a
minute. Then he muttered as if to himself--
“Some one has informed against us. Some one has brought this evil upon
us. Who has done this thing? Who is our secret enemy?”
“Come,” said Donald, “don’t stand muttering there.”
But Micah did not heed him. Raising both hands above his head, and
looking upward, he spoke slowly, clearly--
“May the curse of the Lord God of Israel light on the man who has
informed against us. May he be smitten with madness and blindness and
astonishment of heart. May he grope at the noonday as the blind gropeth
in the darkness. May his life hang in doubt before him. May he fear
day and night, and have none assurance of his life. May he say in
the morning--‘Would God it were even! And at even--‘Would God it were
morning!’ for the fear of his heart wherewith he shall fear and the
sight of his eyes which he shall see.”
“That,” said Donald, “is a mighty fine curse. I’m darned if I ever heard
a more comprehensive kind of curse. We had a God-forsaken half-breed in
our company, under General Greene, who could curse quite a bit, and he
never came near that curse. But I reckon that a good deal of it will
have to be wasted. There isn’t a man living who could stand it for long.
Still, if you name the man for us, I’ll do the best I can with him.
I may not be able to work the blindness and the groping just as you’d
wish, but I’ll undertake that his life hangs in doubt before him for a
bit.”
Micah Ward, without seeming to hear his brother’s speech, stalked
bare-headed from the room and led the way to the meeting-house.
The yeomen were marching up the hill from the main road. They sang a
song with a ribald chorus, such as men sing in a tavern when they have
drunk deep. Lord Dunseveric and Maurice had already reached the door of
the meeting-house, and sat silent on their horses.
“Mr. Ward,” said Lord Dunseveric, “will you give me the keys and save
me from the necessity of breaking open the door? I see Neal with you. I
suppose he has told you what we have come to do?”
“I shall never render the keys to you,” said Micah Ward. “Do the work of
scorn and oppression that you intend, but do not ask me to aid you.”
The yeomen, still singing, straggled up while Lord Dunseveric and Micah
Ward spoke. Suddenly their song ceased, and they listened in a silence
of sheer amazement while Donald Ward addressed their captain.
“Say”--his voice was cold, clear, and contemptuous--“do you call
yourself a captain? And is this your notion of discipline? I guess,
young fellow, if we’d had you with General Greene in Carolina we’d have
combed you out and flogged the drunken ragamuffins you’re supposed to be
commanding. But I reckon you’re just the meanest kind of Britisher there
is, that kind that swaggers and runs away.”
“Seize that man,” said Captain Twinely. “Tie him up. Flog him. Cut the
life out of him.”
Lord Dunseveric touched his horse with the spur and rode forward.
“Captain Twinely, I told you I should have no flogging here. I mean to
be obeyed. And you, sir, you are a stranger here. Who are you?”
“This,” said Micah Ward, laying his hand on his brother’s arm, “is my
brother.”
“Captain Twinely, dismount two of your men. Let them conduct Mr. Ward
and his brother back to the manse and mount guard at the door. Maurice,
tie your horse to the tree yonder, and go with them. See that no
incivility is used. When they are safe in the manse you can return
here.”
Neal walked to the rear of the troop, and stood at the side of the road
near the wall, while his father and uncle were marched away under charge
of two troopers and Maurice St. Clair.
“Sergeant,” said Captain Twinely, “take four men and force this door.”
Neal heard his name called in a low voice by some one near him.
“Neal, Neal, Neal Ward.”
It was Una’s voice. His father and uncle had passed down the road. The
yeomen were eagerly watching their comrades’ attempts to force the door.
Neal stepped over the low stone wall. He felt a hand grasp his and heard
Una speak again.
“Neal, stay with us. I’m frightened.”
A low musical laugh followed, and then the voice of the Comtesse--
“You are a most ungallant cavalier, Mr. Neal. You left us alone in one
ditch this evening already. You really must not leave us in another.”
The effort to force the door of the meeting-house was unsuccessful.
“Put a musket to the key-hole,” said Captain Twinely, “and blow off the
lock.”
There was an explosion. The woodwork was splintered and shattered. A
single push opened the door.
“Now,” said Captain Twinely, “come in and search.”
The little meeting-house was scantily furnished. A high, octangular
wooden pulpit with a precentor’s pew in front of it stood at the far
end. The place was bare of hanging or cupboard which could have been
used as a hiding-place. The men tramped about, upsetting the benches and
cursing as they tripped upon them.
“It’s as dark as hell,” said Captain Twinely. “Send a man down to the
minister’s house and let him fetch up a bundle of bogwood to serve us
for torches. I must have light.”
One of the men departed on the errand. The sergeant, mounted on the
pulpit, rapped on the desk in front of him to secure silence, and said
in a high-pitched, drawling voice--
“Beloved! Brands snatched from the burning! Sanctified vessels! Let
us, in this hour of trial and tribulation, when the ungodly triumph and
prosper in their way, let us sing the Ould Hunderd to the comfort of our
souls.”
At the sound of his voice the troopers who remained outside crowded into
the building, leaving two or three of their number to take care of the
horses. Well satisfied with his congregation, the sergeant sang to the
tune sanctified by two centuries of Puritan worship:--
“There was a Presbyterian cat
Who loved her neighbour’s cream to sup;
She sanctified her theft with prayer
Before she dared to lap it up.”
A burst of applause greeted the performance of this ribald parody. There
were calls for more such psalmody. “Give us another verse, Sergeant.”
“Tune up again, Dick.” “Goon, goon.” Lord Dunseveric, who had remained
outside, dismounted and stalked through the door. He had caught the
tune, though not the words of the sergeant’s song. He guessed at some
ribald irreverence within. His face was white with anger.
“Silence,” he cried.
The sergeant, half drunk, looked at him with an insolent grin.
“Your lordship will like the second verse better--
“There was a Presbyterian wife--”
Lord Dunseveric forced his way through the soldiers who stood between
him and the singer, and approached the pulpit with clenched fists and
lips pressed close together.
“Who found her husband growing old;
She sanctified-----”
sang the sergeant, leering at Lord Dunseveric, but before he got any
further a woman’s shriek rang through the building. The sergeant
stopped abruptly. The men crowded through the door, eager for some new
excitement. Lord Dunseveric and Captain Twinely followed as quickly as
they could. There was another shriek, a sound of blows and cursing.
Then men’s voices rose above the tumult. “Down with the damned croppy.”
“Throttle him.” “Knife him.” “Hold him now you’ve got him.” “Take a belt
for his arms.” “Ah, here’s Tarn with the torches.” “Strike a light, one
of you.” “There’s two of them, two wenches, by God, and young ones.”
“Fetch them into the meeting-house and make them dance.” “Ay, by God,
we’ll tie their petticoats round their necks and then make them dance.”
There was a rush of men to the door of the meeting-house. Lord
Dunseveric and Captain Twinely were borne back before they could see
what was going on. Some one struck a light and illuminated a branch of
bogwood which he held above his head as a torch.
“Drag in the prisoner,” yelled a voice. “We’ll give him a place in the
front and let him see his wenches dance.”
Lord Dunseveric, unable to make his voice heard above the tumult, saw
Neal Ward, his arms bound to his sides by a belt strapped round him,
dragged into the meeting-house. His face was cut and bleeding slightly.
His coat was rent from collar to skirt.
“Make way, make way, for the ladies.”
A trooper entered with two women. He had an arm clasped round each.
Lord Dunseveric recognised with amazement and horror his daughter and
sister-in-law. Una made no resistance. She was terrified into a state of
helplessness. The Comtesse struggled desperately, tearing with her hands
at the trooper’s face. Captain Twinely recognised the ladies almost
immediately, and strove to reach them. Before he could make his way Lord
Dun-severic’s voice rang out above the tumult.
“Maurice, are you there? Come in here at once.”
There was something in his voice, a tone of authority, a note of grim
determination, which cowed the rabble of men for an instant. Maurice St.
Clair pushed his way through the door in silence.
“Maurice,” said Lord Dunseveric, this time in quiet, even tones, “take
that scoundrel by the throat, and if he offers any resistance choke
him.”
The man loosed his hold of the two women, and his hand flew to his sword
hilt, but before he could draw it, Maurice bounded upon him and flung
him to the ground. Once, twice, thrice, as the trooper strove to raise
himself, his head was dashed down on the hard earthen floor of the
meeting-house.
After the third time he lay still. Maurice rose and stood over him.
“Captain Twinely,” said Lord Dunseveric, “loose the belt from your
prisoner’s arms at once.”
The order was obeyed, and Neal stood free. “Bid your men leave the
meeting-house, all but the man who holds the torch and the one who lies
there on the floor.”
The men, cowed and sullen, went out.
“Now,” said Lord Dunseveric, “I will have this matter cleared up and I
will have justice done.” He turned to Neal.
“How came you here with my daughter and the Comtesse de Tourneville?”
Neal stood silent.
“It was my fault,” said the Comtesse. “I brought Una. I wanted to see
what was going on. Mr. Neal had nothing to do with it. He tried to save
us when, when that man”--she pointed to the soldier on the
floor--“found us.”
“Is that so?” asked Lord Dunseveric of Neal.
“It is.”
“Maurice,” said Lord Dunseveric, “take your sister and your aunt home,
and when you get them there see that they do not leave the house again.
Stay. Take Neal with you. Those ruffians outside will scarcely venture
to molest you, but, in case any of them are drunk enough to try, you
will be the better of having Neal beside you. Captain Twinely, you
will kindly give orders to your men that my son and his party are to be
allowed to pass.”
Lord Dunseveric was left alone in the meeting-house save for the man who
held the torch and the trooper who lay unconscious on the floor.
“Give me the light,” he said, “and go you over to your comrade. Loose
his tunic and feel if his heart still beats.”
The man did as he was bidden, and reported that the trooper whom Maurice
had stunned was still alive. Lord Dunseveric walked to the door of the
meeting-house and said--
“Captain Twinely, you will now be so good as to take the man who lies
here on the floor and hang him at once. We are not well off for trees in
this country, but there is at least one at the back of the meeting-house
tall enough for the purpose.”
There was a threatening growl from the men outside. They drew together.
Their hands were on their swords. Captain Twinely stood a little apart
from them. His eyes were fixed on the ground. He made no motion, and
showed no sign of obeying the orders he was given. Lord Dunseveric
looked first at him and then at the group of angry troopers. He stepped
out of the meeting-house and faced them. He took out his watch and
looked at it.
“I give you ten minutes,” he said, “in which to obey my order. If that
man is not hanged in ten minutes I shall march you back to Dunseveric
House, where there are trees enough, and hang every one of you there.”
They could have killed him easily as he stood there. They probably would
have killed him if he had shown the smallest sign of fear. They knew
perfectly well that he could not have marched them to Dunseveric House
or anywhere else if they had chosen to resist. Nevertheless, they obeyed
him. A rope was fetched from the saddle of one of the troopers. In those
days the yeomen carried ropes fit for hanging men as they went through
the country. The unconscious man was carried from the meeting-house
and hung up on the only tree large enough to bear his weight. Lord
Dunseveric, with his watch in his hand, saw the thing done with a quiet
smile. Then he spoke again to Captain Twinely.
“You had better proceed with your search for the cannon. It is getting
late, and you have already wasted a great deal of time.”
More torches were lit. The men, now thoroughly cowed, dragged down the
pulpit and the precentor’s pew. The earth under them was not beaten hard
as was the earth of the rest of the floor. Captain Twinely took a torch
and peered at it.
“Fetch a spade,” he said.
They shovelled the earth into a heap against the wall and uncovered four
cannons. They were wrapped in oily rags, and well preserved, in spite of
their damp hiding-place. Lord Dunseveric looked at them carefully.
“Ah,” he said. “Four of the six-pounders which I bought for my company
of volunteer artillery in 1778. I often wondered what had become of
them. Now, Captain Twinely, you have got the cannon, you had better go
on to arrest your prisoners. I shall go with you, and remember I shall
permit no violence unless resistance is offered. I have given your men
one lesson to-night already. I am quite prepared to give them another if
necessary.”
The rain had ceased when Maurice and Neal, with their charge, left the
meeting-house. The direction of the wind had changed since sunset. It
blew in from the north and was sweeping the clouds away. The moon, then
in its first quarter, seemed to be racing across the sky among the torn
fragments of black cloud. Now and then it reached an open space and shed
a pale, white light over the landscape. Again, it was hidden and the
night was very dark. Already the wind had aroused the sea to its old
warfare against the rocks and strands. Its hollow roaring was borne far
inland. For a time the little party walked in silence. The Comtesse was
the first to speak.
“If that is the way your loyal troops behave, Maurice, I think that I
prefer the _sans culottes_. Ugh! my clothes are half torn off my back. I
shall never be able to wear this dress again. It will smell, positively
smell, of the grimy hands of that drunken wretch.”
“What brought you out?” asked Maurice. “If you had stayed at home
nothing would have happened to you.”
“Now,” said the Comtesse, “if you begin to lecture me, to preach sermons
to me, I shall sit down and cry. I could scream and kick at this moment
with the greatest ease and pleasure. Then what would you do, my nephew?”
“Maurice,” said Una, “let us go home across the fields. Don’t let us go
by the road. I’m afraid of meeting those men again. They will be coming
after us.”
“Nonsense, Una,” said the Comtesse, “we have climbed walls enough
to-night; we have lain in ditches enough. For my part, if there is a
road I shall go along it. Come, Maurice.”
She walked quickly on, and Maurice, puzzled and uncomfortable, followed
her. Then Neal laid his hand on Una’s arm.
“This way,” he said. “I will take you home by the fields.”
He sprang across the ditch and stretched out his hand to the girl.
Without a word she took it and followed him. They walked in silence over
the rough ground. They crossed a wall, and then another, and each time
Neal thrilled at the touch of her hand as he turned to help her.
“You were very brave, Neal,” she said.
“It’s not much to be brave for you, Una. Oh, I wish I could have saved
you.”
He had her hand in his again, and this time it seemed as if it lingered
in his clasp.
“Una,” he said. “Una.”
But her face was turned away from him, and she made no answer. The tone
of his voice set her pulses beating with a strong excitement, so that
she could not look at him or speak. He was silent again. They reached
the high wall which bounded the demesne of Dunseveric House. Once more,
as they climbed, her hand was in his.
This time he held it fast. It seemed to him that he was doing something
that would call down on him swift rebuke and angry reproach. He expected
to have the hand snatched from him. Then, with wonder and a glow of
rapturous delight, he felt it lie passive in his. He realised that he
was being swept beyond his self-control; that his desire for the girl
beside him was stronger than his reason. He yielded to an impulse of
sheer passion, clasped Una in his arms, and kissed her face. Again and
again he kissed her. He felt her arms tighten round him, knew that she
was clinging to him. Then suddenly he let her go and stood back from
her, terror-stricken.
“Oh, Una, what have I done? I am mad.”
She stood before him, her face covered with her hands.
“Una, speak to me. Can you ever forgive me? My love made me mad.”
She raised her face and looked at him. In the dim moonlight he saw in
her eyes a look of wonderful tenderness. He realised without a word from
her that she loved him, too.
“Una--I ought never--I was wrong. But I love you more than my life.
Una, you are too far above me. You are a great man’s daughter. How did I
dare?”
She came close to him and spoke.
“There is no above or below, Neal, when we love each other. How can I be
far above the man who loves me?”
“But there is no hope for us, none at all anywhere. Even to-morrow I may
have to go--Una, I may have to fight----”
“Whatever comes, Neal, I know that you will be brave and good. Be brave
and good, dear Neal, and then God will give us our hearts’ desire. I am
not afraid of the future. Why should you be afraid? If you do what is
right and honourable what is there to fear? God is good.”
They walked together to the house. Then Neal turned and went home. The
future, so far as he could see into it, was dark enough. His love seemed
utterly hopeless, yet his heart was full of unspeakable joy. He knew,
beyond all possibility of doubt, that Una loved him and would love him
whatever happened. Her strangely simple faith seemed to make all things
plain before him. Una loved him and God was good. It was enough.