Clergy -- Fiction; England -- Social life and customs -- 19th century -- Fiction
"I will turn Puseyite too," she said with a strange little touch of
attempted laughter. "I don't want to have any opinions different from
my husband's; and you don't think your father is likely to do anything
to drive you out of the church? You have only given us a terrible
fright, dear," she continued, beginning to tremble again, as he shook
his head and turned away from her. "You did not really mean such a
dreadful thing as sending _me_ away. You could not do without me,
Gerald--you know you could not." Her breath was getting short, her
heart quickening in its throbs--the smile that was quivering on her
face got no response from her husband's downcast eyes. And then poor
Louisa lost all her courage; she threw herself down at his feet,
kneeling to him. "Oh, Gerald, it is not because you want to get rid of
me? You are not doing it for that? If you don't stay in the Rectory,
we shall be ruined--we shall not have enough to eat! and the Rectory
will go to Frank, and your children will be cast upon the world--and
what, oh what is it for, unless it is to get rid of me?" cried Mrs
Wentworth. "You could have as much freedom as you like here at your
own living--nobody would ever interfere or say what are you doing?
and the Bishop is papa's old friend. Oh, Gerald, be wise in time, and
don't throw away all our happiness for a fancy. If it was anything
that could not be arranged, I would not mind so much; but if we all
promise to give in to you, and that you shall do what you please, and
nobody will interfere, how can you have the heart to make us all so
wretched? We will not even be respectable," said the weeping woman; "a
family without any father, and a wife without her husband--and he
living all the time! Oh, Gerald, though I think I surely might be
considered as much as candles, have the altar covered with lights if
you wish it; and if you never took off your surplice any more, I would
never say a word. You can do all that and stay in the Rectory. You
have not the heart--surely--surely you have not the heart--all for an
idea of your own, to bring this terrible distress upon the children
and me?"
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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