"Corydon," he said, "I've something I want to tell you. I've been having a correspondence with Mr. Harding."
She started, and stared at him wildly. "What do you mean?" she gasped.
"I wrote him two letters," said he.
"What about?"
"I wanted to explain about us," he said; and then he told her what he had put in the first letter, and read Mr. Harding's reply, which he had in his pocket.
"What do you make of it?" he asked.
"Tell me what your answer was!" cried Corydon, quickly; and so he began to outline his second letter.
But she did not let him get very far. "You wrote him that way about marriage!" she exclaimed.
"Yes, dear," said he.
"But, Thyrsis ! He'll be perfectly horrified!"
"You think so?"
"Why, Thyrsis! Don't you understand? He's a clergyman!"
"I know; but it's the truth "
"You don't knovr anything about people at all!" she cried. "Can't you realize? He doesn't reason about things like you; you can't appeal to him in that way!"
"Well, what was I to do "
"We'll never see him again!" exclaimed Corydon, in despair.
"That won't be any worse than it was before, will it?"
"Tell me," she rushed on, in her agitation. "Did you tell him that I had no idea what you were doing?"
"Of course I told him that."
"But did you make it perfectly clear to him?"
"I tried to, dear."
"Tell me what you said! Tell me the rest of the letter."
And so he recited it, as well as he could, while she listened, breathless with dismay. "How could you!" she cried.
Then she read over Mr. Harding's letter once more. "You see," she said; "he was simply dazed. He didn't know what to say, he didn't know what to think."
"He'll get over it in time. He had to know, somehow."
"But why did he have to know? Why couldn't things have stayed as they were?"
"But my dear, you are in love with the man, aren't you?"
"But I don't want to marry him, Thyrsis! I don't —I don't love him enough."
"You might have come to it in the course of time," he replied.
"Don't you see that he'd have to give up being a clergyman?" she exclaimed.
,656 LOVE'S PILGRIMAGE
"That's been done before," he said.
"But—see it from his point of'view! Think of the scandal!"
"I don't think much about scandals," Thyrsis answered. "That part could be arranged."
"But do the laws give people divorces in that way?"
"Our divorce laws are relics of feudalism," he answered. "One does not take them seriously."
"But how can you get around them, Thyrsis?"
"You simply have to admit whatever offense they require."
"But Thyrsis! Think how that would seem to Mr. Harding!"
"My dear," he answered, "if I knew that a divorce was necessary to your happiness, I would take upon myself whatever disgrace was necessary."
Corydon sat gazing at him. "Is it so easy to give me up?" she asked.
"It wasn't easy at all, my dear," he answered. "It was a fight that I fought out."
"But you decided that you could do it!" she exclaimed; and that, he found, was the aspect of the matter that stayed with her in the end. It seemed a poor sort of compliment he had paid her; and how could he make real to her the pangs the decision had cost him? He expected her to take that for granted —in all these years, had he not been able to convince her of his love?
It was the old story between them, he reflected; he was always being called upon to express his feelings, and always reluctant to attempt it. Just now she wanted him to enter upon an eloquent exposition of how lie had suffered and hesitated before he mailed the letter; and she would hang upon his words, and drink
them in greedily—and of course, the more conv/'ncing he made them, the more she would love him.
She could never leave him, she insisted—the ;*dea of giving him up was madness. She had not meant any such thing by falling in love with Mr. Harding,, Why must he be so elemental, so brutally direct? He was like some clumsy animal, blundering about in the garden where she kept her sentimental plants. He frightened her, as he had frightened Mr. Harding. She stood appalled at this thing which he had done; the truth being that his action had sprung from a certain deep conviction in him, which he never found courage to utter to her.
§ 15. THYRSIS pledged his word that he would write no more to Mr. Harding; and so they settled down to wait for a reply. But a couple more days passed, and still there came nothing.
Corydon was restless and impatient. "What can he be doing?" she exclaimed. Finally it chanced that Thyrsis had to go to Bellevue upon some errand; and so the two drove into town together, and came upon the solution of the mystery.
On the street they met Mr. Jennings, the high-school principal.
"Good-morning," said he. "A fine day." And then, "Have you heard the news about Harding?'*
"What news?" asked Thyrsis.
"He's gone away."
"Gone away!"
"He's resigned his pastorate."
Thyrsis stared at the man, dazed; he felt Corydon beside him give a start. "Resigned his pastorate!" she echoed.
"Yes," said the other, "just so." "But why?"
"We none of us know. We're at our wits' end." "But—how did you hear it?"
"I'm one of the trustees of the church, and his letter was read last night."
Thvrsis could not find a word to utter. He sat
mr
staring at the man in bewilderment.
"What did he say?" cried Corydon, at last.
"He said that for some time he had been dissatisfied with his work, and felt the need of more study and reflection. It quite took our breath away, for nobody'd had the least idea that anything was wrong."
"But what's he going to do?"
"Apparently he's going abroad," was the answer— "at least he ordered his mail to be forwarded to an address in Switzerland. And that's all we know."
Then, after a few remarks about the spiritual ferment in the churches, the worthy high-school principal went on his way, and left Corydon and Thyrsis in the middle of the street. For a minute or two they sat staring before them as if in a trance; and then suddenly from Thyrsis' lips there burst a peal of wild laughter. "By the Lord God, he ran away from it!" he cried; and he seized Corydon by the arm and cried again, "He ran away from it!"
"Thyrsis!" exclaimed the other. "Don't laugh about it!"
"Don't laugh!' he gasped; and again the convulsion of hilarity swept over him.
But Corydon turned upon him swiftly. "No!" she cried. "Stop ! It's no j oke!"
She was staring at him, her eyes wide with consterna-
tion and dismay. "Think!" she exclaimed. "He's given up his career!"
"Yes," he said, "so it seems."
"It's awful!" she cried. "Oh, how could he!"
He saw the way the news affected her, and he made an effort to control himself. "The man simply couldn't face it," he said. "He didn't dare to trust himself. He ran."
"But Thyrsis!" she exclaimed. "I can't believe it! He's given up his whole life-work!"
"He's fled like Joseph," said Thyrsis—"leaving his cloak in the hands of the temptress!"
And then, the strain proving too much for him, he began to laugh again. Becoming aware of the stares of some people on the street, he started up the horse, and drove on into the country, where he could be alone, and could give unrestrained expression to the emotions that possessed him.
He imagined the dismay and perplexity of the unhappy clergyman, with his belief in the sacred institution of marriage—and with the vision of Corydon pursuing him all day, and haunting his dreams at night. He imagined him trying to face the interview with the husband—with the terrible, conventionless husband, whose arguments could not be answered. "He simply couldn't face me! He went the very morning I was coming!"
So he would laugh again; he would laugh until he was so weak that he had to lie back in his seat. "I can't believe that it's true!" he exclaimed. "My dear, I think it's the funniest thing that ever happened since the world began!"