Clergy -- England -- Fiction; England -- Social life and customs -- 19th century -- Fiction
In a quiet interval he looked at his watch and wound it up, finding the
time to be half-past two. The familiar action carried his mind back to
his neat, spotless bedroom at the rectory and the cares and anxieties
of everyday life, which had been forgotten for the last five hours.
Could it be so short a time, he asked himself, since he was troubled by
them? It seemed years ago. It seemed as if a gulf, deep as the shaft
down which he had come, divided him from them. And yet the moment his
thoughts returned to them the gulf became less, and presently, although
his eyes were still fixed upon the poor collier’s unquiet head and the
murky cabin with its smoky lamp, he was really back in Claversham,
busied with those thoughts again, and pondering on the time when he
should be above ground. The things that had been important before rose
into importance again, but their relative values among themselves were
altered, in his eyes at any rate. With what he had seen and heard in
the last few hours fresh in his mind, with the injured men lying still
in his sight—one of them never to see the sun again—he could not but
take a different, a wider, a less selfish view of life and its aims.
His ideal of existence grew higher and purer, his notion of success
more noble. In the light of his own self-forgetting energy and of
others’ pain he saw things as they affected his neighbor rather than
himself and so presently—not in haste, but slowly in the watches of the
night—he formed a resolution which shall be told presently. The
determinations to which men come at such times are, in nine cases out
of ten, as transitory as the emotions on which they are based. But this
time, and with this man, it was not to be so. Kate Bonamy’s words,
bringing before his mind the responsibility which rested upon him, had
in a degree prepared him to examine his position gravely and from a
lofty standpoint; so that the considerations which now assailed him
could scarcely fail to have due and lasting weight with him, and to
leave impressions both deep and permanent.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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