‘Yes, of course; for a man who visits the poor there must be always an engagement. That kind of thing has no limit. Poor people like to be read to and talked to and compassionated. You can’t suppose they would ever say, “Hold, enough!” But you ought to have some consideration for your own health and spirits. You are looking ill and depressed.’ ‘I am not ill, but I plead guilty to feeling depressed.’ ‘What is the trouble?’ ‘I have made up my mind to leave this place--dear as it is to me. I am going to write to Mr. Dulcimer this evening to tell him my intention.’ ‘You must be mad,’ cried Kenrick. ‘Leave Little Yafford, just when fortune is ready to pour her favours into your lap--just when Miss Harefield is free to be your wife. You must be mad, Cyril.’ ‘No, I have been sorely perplexed, but I am not mad. I have deliberately weighed this question. Beatrix Harefield is to me the one perfect woman--the only woman I can ever love,--but I cannot ask her to be my wife.’ ‘Why not, in heaven’s name?’ ‘I had rather not enter into my feelings on that point.’ ‘Do you mean that you, a reasonable man, with eyes of your own and a mind of your own to see and judge with, are going to be led and ruled by the petty slanderers of Little Yafford; malicious creatures who envy Miss Harefield her ten thousand a year, and would like to think--or at any rate to make others think--that she jumped into fortune by crime?’ ‘I despise slanderers and evil speakers,’ said Cyril, ‘but my wife must be spotless.’ ‘Yes, in your own eyes and in the sight of heaven. It can matter to you very little what Little Yafford thinks of her.’ ‘To me individually nothing--to my office a great deal. The wife of a priest must be above suspicion--her name and fame must be unshadowed.’ ‘Abandon your office, then. You can afford to do it if you marry a woman with ten thousand a year.’ Cyril turned upon the speaker with eyes that flashed angrily across a cloud of gray smoke. ‘Kenrick, can you believe for one moment that I took that office as a means of living, or that the gain of wealth or happiness would tempt me to surrender it? I should think myself a new Judas if I could turn my back upon my Master to marry the woman I love.’ ‘Keep your office, then, and marry her all the same. Live down this slander. Stand up bravely before the world with your wife by your side, and let men say the worst they can of you. Your life and hers will be your answer.’ ‘They would say I had married her because she has ten thousand a year,’ said Cyril. ‘I should do no good with her money. It would turn to withered leaves in my keeping. No, I love her--shall love her to the end--innocent or guilty--but I will not link my life with hers. Every hour of life would be a struggle between love and doubt.’