THE BIRTHPLACE
He became speedily more than their author—their personal friend, their universal light, their final authority and divinity. Where in the world, they walready asking themselves, would they have been without him? By the time their appointment arrived in form their relation to him had immensely developed. It was amusing to Morris Gedge that he had so lately blushed for his ignorance, and he made this remark to his wife during the last hour they were able to give to their study, before proceeding, across half the country, to the scene of their romantic future. It was as if, in deep, close throbs, in cool after-waves that broke of a sudden and bathed his mind, all possession and comprehension and sympathy, all the truth and the life and the story, had come to him, and come, as the newspapers said, to stay. "It's absurd," he didn't hesitate to say, "to talk of our not 'knowing'. So far as we don't it's because we're donkeys. He's in the thing, over His ears, and the more we get into it the more we're with Him. I seem to myself at any rate," he declared, "to see Him in it as if He were painted on the wall."
" Oh, doesn't one rather, the dear thing? And don't you feel where it is?" Mrs. Gedge finely asked. "We see Him because we love Him—that's what we do. How can we not, the old darling—with what He's doing for us? There's no light"—she had a sententious turn—"like true affection."
"Yes," I suppose that's it. And yet," her husband mused, "I see, confound me, the faults."
"That's because you're so critical. You see them, but you don't mind them. You see them, but you forgive them. You mustn't mention them there. We sha'n't, you know, be there for that."
"Dear no!" he laughed: "we'll chuck out anyone who hints at them."
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