Friend Fairley rejoiced now that he had in by-gone days lent David books to read; but he rejoiced secretly, for though his old bookman’s heart warmed at the thought that he should in good time hear, from one who had seen with his own eyes, of the wonders of the East, it became him to assume a ponderous placidity--for Framley had always been doubtful of his bookishness and its influence on such as David. They said it boded no good; there were those even who called Fairley “a new light,” that schism in a sect. These God-fearing, dull folk were present now, and, disapproving of David’s choice in marriage, disapproved far more of its consequence; for so they considered the projected journey into the tumultuous world and the garish Orient. In the end, however, an austere approval was promised, should the solemn commission of men and women appointed to confer with and examine the candidates find in their favour--as in this case they would certainly do; for thirty thousand pounds bulked potently even in this community of unworldly folk, though smacking somewhat of the world, the flesh and the devil. If David, however, would stand to the shovel hat, and if Hope would be faithful for ever to the poke bonnet and grey cloth, all might yet be well. At the same time, they considered that friend David’s mind was distracted by the things of this world, and they reasoned with the Lord in prayer upon the point in David’s presence. In worldly but religiously controlled dudgeon David left the meeting-house, and inside the door of Hope’s cottage said to his own mother and to hers some bitter and un-Quaker-like things against the stupid world--for to him as yet the world was Framley, though he would soon mend that. When he had done speaking against “the mad wits that would not see,” Hope laid her cool fingers on his arm and said, with a demure humour: “All the world’s mad but thee and me, David--and thee’s a bit mad!” So pleased was David’s mother with this speech that then and there she was reconciled to Hope’s rebellious instincts, and saw safety for her son in the hands of the quaint, clear-minded daughter of her old friend and kinswoman, Mercy Marlowe. II Within three months David and Hope had seen the hills of Moab from the top of the Mount of Olives; watched the sun go down over the Sea of Galilee; plucked green boughs from the cedars on Lebanon; broken into placid exclamations of delight in the wild orchard of nectarine blossoms by the lofty ruins of Baalbac; walked in that street called Straight at Damascus; journeyed through the desert with a caravan to Palmyra when the Druses were up; and, at last, looked upon the spot where lived that Pharaoh who knew not Joseph.