The other was silent, awed for the moment. Then his anger rose.
“Dare you speak openly like that? Where is your penitence, your shame? have you no sense of the horror of your sin?”
“There is no sin for which I should feel shame,” he answered very quietly. “God gave me my love for him, and He gave him also his love for me. Who is there that shall withstand God and the love that is His gift?”
“Dare you profane the name by calling such a passion as this ‘love’?”
“It was love, perfect love: it _is_ perfect love.”
“I can say no more now; to-morrow all shall be known. Thank God, you shall pay dearly for all this disgrace,” he added, in a sudden outburst of wrath.
“I am sorry you have no mercy;—not that I fear exposure and punishment for myself. But mercy can seldom be found from a Christian,” he added, as one that speaks from without.
The rector turned towards him suddenly, and stretched out his hands.
“Heaven forgive me my hardness of heart,” he said. “I have been cruel; I have spoken cruelly in my distress. Ah, can you say nothing to defend your crime?”
“No: I do not think I can do any good by that. If I attempted to deny all guilt, you would only think I lied: though I should prove my innocence, yet my reputation, my career, my whole future, are ruined for ever. But will you listen to me for a little? I will tell you a little about myself.”
The rector sat down while his curate told him the story of his life, sitting by the empty grate with his chin resting on his clasped hands.
“I was at a big public school, as you know. I was always different from other boys. I never cared much for games. I took little interest in those things for which boys usually care so much. I was not very happy in my boyhood, I think. My one ambition was to find the ideal for which I longed. It has always been thus: I have always had an indefinite longing for something, a vague something that never quite took shape, that I could never quite understand. My great desire has always been to find something that would satisfy me. I was attracted at once by sin: my whole early life is stained and polluted with the taint of sin. Sometimes even now I think that there are sins more beautiful than any thing else in the world. There are vices that are bound to attract almost irresistibly any one who loves beauty above every thing. I have always sought for love: again and again I have been the victim of fits of passionate affection: time after time I have seemed to have found my ideal at last: the whole object of my life has been, times without number, to gain the love of some particular person. Several times my efforts were successful; each time I woke to find that the success I had obtained was worthless after all. As I grasped the prize, it lost all its attraction—I no longer cared for what I had once desired with my whole heart. In vain I endeavoured to drown the yearnings of my heart with the ordinary pleasures and vices that usually attract the young. I had to choose a profession. I became a priest. The whole æsthetic tendency of my soul was intensely attracted by the wonderful mysteries of Christianity, the artistic beauty of our services. Ever since my ordination I have been striving to cheat myself into the belief that peace had come at last—at last my yearning was satisfied: but all in vain. Unceasingly I have struggled with the old cravings for excitement, and, above all, the weary, incessant thirst for a perfect love. I have found, and still find, an exquisite delight in religion: not in the regular duties of a religious life, not in the ordinary round of parish organizations;—against these I chafe incessantly;—no, my delight is in the æsthetic beauty of the services, the ecstasy of devotion, the passionate fervour that comes with long fasting and meditation.”