It was something, at any
rate, that she was out of the Chapel, away from Mr. Crashaw's
piercing eyes, Mr. Thurston's rasping voice, Mr. Warlock's
reproachful melancholy. She felt this evening as though by
struggling with all her strength she could shut the gates upon new
experiences that were fighting to enter into her soul, but must, at
all costs to her own happiness, be defeated. No such thing as
ghosts, no such thing as a God, be He kind, tender, cruel or loving-
-nothing but what one can see, can touch, can confront with one's
physical strength. She had been to a service at a Methodist chapel,
her aunt had been ill, to-morrow there would be daylight and people
hurrying down the street about their business, work and shops and
food and sun . . . No such thing as ghosts! Nothing but what you can
see!
"And I'll get some work without wasting a minute," she thought,
nodding her head. "In a shop if necessary--or I could be a
governess--and then when he is free, Martin will be with me."
She climbed on a chair and turned down the hall-gas as she had seen
Martha do. She went to the door and slipped the chain into its
socket and turned the lock.
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