England -- Social life and customs -- 20th century -- Fiction; Families -- Fiction; Mother and child -- Fiction; Political fiction
A couple of hours later Newbury set out to walk to Coryston. The day was
sultry, and June in all its power ruled the countryside. The hawthorns were
fading; the gorse was over; but the grass and the young wheat were rushing
up, the wild roses threw their garlands on every hedge, and the Coryston
trout-stream, beside which Newbury walked, brimming as it was, on its chalk
bed, would soon be almost masked from sight by the lush growths which
overhung its narrow stream, twisting silverly through the meadows.
The sensitive mind and conscience of a man, alive, through the long
discipline of religion, to many kinds of obligation, were, at this moment,
far from happy, even with this flaming June about him, and the beloved
brought nearer by every step. The thought of Marcia, the recollection of
her face, the expectation of her kiss, thrilled indeed in his veins. He was
not yet thirty, and the forces of his life were still rising. He had never
felt his manhood so vigorous, nor his hopes so high. Nevertheless he was
haunted--pursued--by the thought of those two miserable persons, over whom
he and his father held, it seemed, a power they had certainly never sought,
and hated to exercise. Yet how disobey the Church!--and how ignore the
plain words of her Lord--"_He that marrieth her that is put away
committeth adultery_'"?
"Marriage is for Christians indissoluble. It bears the sacramental stamp.
It is the image, the outward and visible sign of that most awful and
most sacred union between Christ and the soul. To break the church's law
concerning it, and to help others to break it, is--for Christians--to
_sin_. To acquiesce in it, to be a partner to the dissolution of
marriage for such reasons as Mrs. Betts had to furnish, was to injure not
only the Christian church, but the human society, and, in the case of
people with a high social trust, to betray that trust."
These were the ideas, the ideas of his family, and his church, which held
him inexorably. He saw no escape from them. Yet he suffered from the
enforcement of them, suffered truly and sincerely, even in the dawn of his
own young happiness. What could he do to persuade the two offenders to the
only right course!--or if that were impossible, to help them to take up
life again where he and his would not be responsible for what they did or
accomplices in their wrong-doing?
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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