'Which is as much as to say that the prophet is to break no idols.'
'You know I do not mean that, and you know, too, how incapable I am
of defending myself in argument. I never can stand up for anything I
say. I can now and then say something, but, when I have said it, I
run away.'
'My dearest Clara,' Madge put her arm over her sister's shoulder as
they sat side by side, 'do not run away now; tell me just what you
think of me.' Clara was silent for a minute.
'I have sometimes wondered whether you have not demanded a little too
much of yourself and Frank. It is always a question of how much.
There is no human truth which is altogether true, no love which is
altogether perfect. You may possibly have neglected virtue or
devotion such as you could not find elsewhere, overlooking it because
some failing, or the lack of sympathy on some unimportant point, may
at the moment have been prominent. Frank loved you, Madge.'
Madge did not reply; she withdrew her arm from her sister's neck,
threw herself back in her chair and closed her eyes. She saw again
the Fenmarket roads, that summer evening, and she felt once more
Frank's burning caresses. She thought of him as he left St Paul's,
perhaps broken-hearted. Stronger than every other motive to return
to him, and stronger than ever, was the movement towards him of that
which belonged to him.
At last she cried out, literally cried, with a vehemence which
startled and terrified Clara, 'Clara, Clara, you know not what you do! For God's sake forbear!'
She was again silent, and then she turned round hurriedly, hid her
face, and sobbed piteously. It lasted, however, but for a minute;
she rose, wiped her eyes, went to the window, came back again, and
said, 'It is beginning to snow.'
The iron pillar bolted to the solid rock had quivered and resounded
under the blow, but its vibrations were nothing more than those of
the rigid metal; the base was unshaken and, except for an instant,
the column had not been deflected a hair's-breadth.