“No, you do not quite mean that,” she said, with a disconcerting readiness; “you do not quite mean that; you mean that I forget that for years I sat Sunday after Sunday under your pulpit listening to your preaching--that for years and years you gave your opinion, which was followed without question, to my father and mother on the subject of my bringing up; that until now I was submissive to you, with all the members of the household. That is what you had on your mind just now, and I do not wonder at it. I have amazed you. I don’t doubt it; I have amazed myself. The troubles which I have had during the past eighteen months--you call them trials, and that is the right word--have been the means of showing me myself--showing me what I am as an individual: that I am not merely as a single grain of sand running down with a million other grains in the hour-glass only to mark time till the whole are swallowed up. I thank God for those trials which have made me what I am to-day. I can even thank God for the present trial, terrible though it seems, because I have faith in God’s way of working to bring out all that is best in man and woman; and I know that we shall come out of it with our love for each other strengthened and our belief in God strengthened. That is what you forgot when you came here to-day, Mr. Possnett; you forgot the power that there is in suffering to develop the character, the nature, the individuality, the human feeling and the Divine love of every one who experiences it. That was your mistake: you did not make allowance for God’s purpose in suffering. You thought that I should be the same to-day that I was eighteen months ago. You have much to learn, both of God and man, Mr. Possnett. So have I. I am learning daily.” The Reverend Osney Possnett lifted up his hands--the attitude was that of Moses blessing the congregation; but by a sudden increase of emphasis and a tightening of the hands into fists it became the attitude of Balak the son of Zippor reproving Balaam the Prophet for having betrayed the confidence reposed in him as an agent of commination. He was not a man of any intelligence worth speaking of, and with so limited an experience of the world that the least departure from the usual found him without resources for meeting it. Such men are unwise if they make the attempt to play the usual against the unusual. They are wisest in avoiding it. The Reverend Osney Possnett showed that he was not without wisdom by his retreat. Sorrow and not indignation was the lubricant of his farewell. His prayer was that she might be brought to see in what direction the truth lay before it should be too late. And that was just the prayer to which Priscilla could say “Amen!” with all her heart. CHAPTER XXXI Two days later the papers were full of the news of the reappearance of Marcus Blaydon.