"
To command was foreign to her nature, but Mr. Barter, with a look such
as a little rueful boy might give, obeyed.
When she was gone he stood listening at the door for some sound--for
any sound, even the sound of her dress--but there was none, for her
petticoat was of lawn, and the Rector was alone with a silence that he
could not bear. He began to pace the room in his thick boots, his hands
clenched behind him, his forehead butting the air, his lips folded; thus
a bull, penned for the first time, turns and turns, showing the whites
of its full eyes.
His thoughts drove here and there, fearful, angered, without guidance;
he did not pray. The words he had spoken so many times left him as
though of malice. "We are all in the hands of God!--we are all in the
hands of God!" Instead of them he could think of nothing but the old
saying Mr. Paramor had used in the Squire's dining-room, "There is
moderation in all things," and this with cruel irony kept humming in his
ears. "Moderation in all things--moderation in all things!" and his wife
lying there--his doing, and....
There was a sound. The Rector's face, so brown and red, could not grow
pale, but his great fists relaxed. Mrs. Pendyce was standing in the
doorway with a peculiar half-pitiful, half-excited smile.
"It's all right--a boy.
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