She wanted so simple a thing . . . to
be always with Martin, working, with all this confusing, baffling,
mysterious religion behind her; this simple thing seemed incredibly
difficult of attainment.
Nevertheless, when they started that evening for the Chapel she
felt, in spite of herself, a strange almost pleasurable excitement.
There was, in that plain, ugly building some force that could not be
denied. Was it the force of the worshippers' belief? Was it the
force of some outside power that watched ironically the efforts of
those poor human beings to discover it? Was it the love of a father
for his children? No, there was very little love in this creed--no
more than there had been in her father's creed before. As she walked
along between her aunts her brain was a curious jumble of religion,
Martin, and how she was ever going to learn to be tidy and punctual.
"Well, I won't care," was the resolution with which she always
brought to an end her discussions and misgivings. "I'm myself.
Nobody can touch me unless I let them."
It was a most lovely evening, very pale and clear with an orange
light in the sky like the reflection of some far distant towering
fire.
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