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How I Fell in with the Curate
"Iwaswalkingthroughtheroadstoclearmybrain,"hesaid. "Andsuddenly—fire,earthquake,death!"
Herelapsedintosilence,withhischinnowsunkenalmosttohisknees.
Presentlyhebeganwavinghishand.
"Allthework—alltheSundayschools—Whathavewedone—whathasWeybridgedone? Everythinggone—everythingdestroyed.Thechurch!Werebuiltitonlythreeyearsago. Gone!Sweptoutofexistence!Why?"
Anotherpause,andhebrokeoutagainlikeonedemented.
"Thesmokeofherburninggoethupforeverandever!"heshouted.
Hiseyesflamed,andhepointedaleanfingerinthedirectionofWeybridge.
BythistimeIwasbeginningtotakehismeasure. Thetremendoustragedyinwhichhehadbeeninvolved—itwasevidenthewasafugitivefromWeybridge—haddrivenhimtotheveryvergeofhisreason.
"ArewefarfromSunbury?"Isaid,inamatter-of-facttone.
"Whatarewetodo?"heasked."Arethesecreatureseverywhere?Hastheearthbeengivenovertothem?"
"ArewefarfromSunbury?"
"OnlythismorningIofficiatedatearlycelebration——"
"Thingshavechanged,"Isaid,quietly."Youmustkeepyourhead.Thereisstillhope."
