. ."
It was then that the trouble that had been smouldering for so long
between Thurston and the Master burst into flame. For half an hour
the Master lost his temper like an ordinary human being. Thurston
said very little but listened with a quiet and sarcastic smile. Then
he went away. Warlock was left in a torment of doubt and misery.
That night he was in his room, until the dawn, on his knees,
wrestling with God. He accused himself because, during these latter
months, he had removed himself from human contact with his
congregation. He had been so intent upon God that he had forgotten
his flock. Now he hardly knew how to approach them. The thought of a
personal interview with the Miss Cardinals, or Miss Pyncheon, or Mr.
Smith filled him with a strange shy terror. He seemed to have
nothing more to say to them, and he blamed himself bitterly because
he had been intent upon his own salvation rather than theirs.
Thurston's words sent him groping back through the details of the
visions. And there were no details. For himself there had been
enough in the light, the ecstasy, the contact, but these others who
had not themselves felt this, nor seen its glory, demanded more.
Pages:
481
482
483
484
485
486
487
488
489
490
491
492
493
494
495
496
497
498
499
500
501
502
503
504
505