I shall not be so very late--"
"Especially as he has gone under," he said quietly.
"What was that?"
"Gone under naturally." He beat his palms together in silence;
his head fell on his chest.
"I don't understand."
"As his mother did."
"But, Mr. Emerson--MR. EMERSON--what are you talking about?"
"When I wouldn't have George baptized," said he.
Lucy was frightened.
"And she agreed that baptism was nothing, but he caught that
fever when he was twelve and she turned round. She thought it a
judgment." He shuddered. "Oh, horrible, when we had given up that
sort of thing and broken away from her parents. Oh, horrible--
worst of all--worse than death, when you have made a little
clearing in the wilderness, planted your little garden, let in
your sunlight, and then the weeds creep in again! A judgment! And
our boy had typhoid because no clergyman had dropped water on him
in church! Is it possible, Miss Honeychurch? Shall we slip back
into the darkness for ever?"
"I don't know," gasped Lucy.
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