very soul cries
no. Nor is that all; I take my place each morning in the centre of
the room, open the Bible, and in pious voice, I, Infidel, read forth
the prayers that are to strengthen the household through the day.
When, at a given point, all the maid-servants rise, whirl round in
their calico gowns and turn their demure backs to me as they kneel
in a row, I know not whether to laugh or cry. O Constance, it is
infamous of me! And why do I do it? Out of consideration for them?
out of kind-heartedness? Not a bit of it! Vanity, my dear; sheer
vanity. If they cared for me less, if I did not feel that they
almost worship me, holding out their old hands to me for all the
pleasure that their day still may bring, would I do it? No; for then
I should not care, as I feel I do now, to keep their good opinion,
even at the expense of making myself appear better, according to
their lights, than I really am. I am a worm; I never thought I could
sink so low. It was so easy to live in tune with Truth beside my
mother; but she was Truth's high-priestess; she never swerved from
the straight path.

I went to church last Sunday; there's a confession! Another such act
of cowardice, and I am lost. It never entered my head, of course, to
go the first Sunday I was here; and as it so happened that I had a
headache that day, no comment was made upon my absence. But on
Saturday the vicar said something about "to-morrow"; Uncle George
invited himself to dinner after service; and when Aunt Caroline
asked me, at breakfast on Sunday, what hat I was going to put on, I
replied, "The small one," and followed her like a lamb. I don't know
what to do now. This afternoon, the good little old lady asked me to
call with her on a friend whose father died last week, and I went,
Heaven knows why. I was well served out. There they sat a mortal
hour, blowing their noses and praising their God, until I could have
shrieked. When I had safely seen Aunt Caroline home, I set off for a
long walk in the gloaming; the silent earth was stretched in peace
beneath the deepening sky, the moon rose among great clouds that
floated like dragons' ghosts upon the blue. And I cried out within
myself for very pain that I who had perception of these things
should live so lying and so false a life. Perhaps I am not quite
myself yet; so much sorrow came to me at once that all my strength
has left me. But it is cowardly to make excuses.

I hear you: "There you go, old wise-bones!