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He also mentioned that a wheeled chair had been anonymously hired
for his especial use； though as yet he was hardly far enough
advanced towards convalescence to avail himself of the luxury。 'Is
this Mr。 Manston's doing？' he inquired。
She could dally with her perplexity； evade it； trust to time for
guidance； no longer。 The matter had come to a crisis： she must
once and for all choose between the dictates of her understanding
and those of her heart。 She longed； till her soul seemed nigh to
bursting； for her lost mother's return to earth； but for one minute；
that she might have tender counsel to guide her through this； her
great difficulty。
As for her heart； she half fancied that it was not Edward's to quite
the extent that it once had been； she thought him cruel in
conducting himself towards her as he did at Budmouth； cruel
afterwards in making so light of her。 She knew he had stifled his
love for herwas utterly lost to her。 But for all that she could
not help indulging in a woman's pleasure of recreating defunct
agonies； and lacerating herself with them now and then。
'If I were rich；' she thought； 'I would give way to the luxury of
being morbidly faithful to him for ever without his knowledge。'
But she considered； in the first place she was a homeless dependent；
and what did practical wisdom tell her to do under such desperate
circumstances？ To provide herself with some place of refuge from
poverty； and with means to aid her brother Owen。 This was to be Mr。
Manston's wife。
She did not love him。
But what was love without a home？ Misery。 What was a home without
love？ Alas； not much； but still a kind of home。
'Yes；' she thought； 'I am urged by my common sense to marry Mr。
Manston。'
Did anything nobler in her say so too？
With the death （to her） of Edward her heart's occupation was gone。
Was it necessary or even right for her to tend it and take care of
it as she used to in the old time； when it was still a capable
minister？
By a slight sacrifice here she could give happiness to at least two
hearts whose emotional activities were still unwounded。 She would
do good to two men whose lives were far more important than hers。
'Yes；' she said again； 'even Christianity urges me to marry Mr。
Manston。'
Directly Cytherea had persuaded herself that a kind of heroic self…
abnegation had to do with the matter； she became much more content
in the consideration of it。 A wilful indifference to the future was
what really prevailed in her； ill and worn out； as she was； by the
perpetual harassments of her sad fortune； and she regarded this
indifference； as gushing natures will do under such circumstances；
as genuine resignation and devotedness。
Manston met her again the following day： indeed； there was no
escaping him now。 At the end of a short conversation between them；
which took place in the hollow of the park by the waterfall；
obscured on the outer side by the low hanging branches of the limes；
she tacitly assented to his assumption of a privilege greater than
any that had preceded it。 He stooped and kissed her brow。
Before going to bed she wrote to Owen explaining the whole matter。
It was too late in the evening for the postman's visit； and she
placed the letter on the mantelpiece to send it the next day。
The morning （Sunday） brought a hurried postscript to Owen's letter
of the day before：
'September 9； 1865。
'DEAR CYTHEREAI have received a frank and friendly letter from Mr。
Manston explaining the position in which he stands now； and also
that in which he hopes to stand towards you。 Can't you love him？
Why not？ Try； for he is a good； and not only that； but a cultured
man。 Think of the weary and laborious future that awaits you if you
continue for life in your present position； and do you see any way
of escape from it except by marriage？ I don't。 Don't go against
your heart； Cytherea； but be wise。Ever affectionately yours；
OWEN。'
She thought that probably he had replied to Mr。 Manston in the same
favouring mood。 She had a conviction that that day would settle her
doom。 Yet
'So true a fool is love；'
that even now she nourished a half…hope that something would happen
at the last moment to thwart her deliberately…formed intentions； and
favour the old emotion she was using all her strength to thrust
down。
8。 THE TENTH OF SEPTEMBER
The Sunday was the thirteenth after Trinity； and the afternoon
service at Carriford was nearly over。 The people were singing the
Evening Hymn。
Manston was at church as usual in his accustomed place two seats
forward from the large square pew occupied by Miss Aldclyffe and
Cytherea。
The ordinary sadness of an autumnal evening…service seemed； in
Cytherea's eyes； to be doubled on this particular occasion。 She
looked at all the people as they stood and sang； waving backwards
and forwards like a forest of pines swayed by a gentle breeze； then
at the village children singing too； their heads inclined to one
side； their eyes listlessly tracing some crack in the old walls； or
following the movement of a distant bough or bird with features
petrified almost to painfulness。 Then she looked at Manston； he was
already regarding her with some purpose in his glance。
'It is coming this evening；' she said in her mind。 A minute later；
at the end of the hymn； when the congregation began to move out；
Manston came down the aisle。 He was opposite the end of her seat as
she stepped from it； the remainder of their progress to the door
being in contact with each other。 Miss Aldclyffe had lingered
behind。
'Don't let's hurry；' he said； when Cytherea was about to enter the
private path to the House as usual。 'Would you mind turning down
this way for a minute till Miss Aldclyffe has passed？'
She could not very well refuse now。 They turned into a secluded
path on their left； leading round through a thicket of laurels to
the other gate of the church…yard； walking very slowly。 By the time
the further gate was reached； the church was closed。 They met the
sexton with the keys in his hand。
'We are going inside for a minute；' said Manston to him； taking the
keys unceremoniously。 'I will bring them to you when we return。'
The sexton nodded his assent； and Cytherea and Manston walked into
the porch； and up the nave。
They did not speak a word during their progress； or in any way
interfere with the stillness and silence that prevailed everywhere
around them。 Everything in the place was the embodiment of decay：
the fading red glare from the setting sun； which came in at the west
window； emphasizing the end of the day and all its cheerful doings；
the mildewed walls； the uneven paving…stones； the wormy pews； the
sense of recent occupation； and the dank air of death which had
gathered with the evening； would have made grave a lighter mood than
Cytherea's was then。
'What sensations does the place impress you with？' she said at last；
very sadly。
'I feel imperatively called upon to be honest； from very despair of
achieving anything by stratagem in a world where the materials are
such as these。' He； too； spoke in a depressed voice； purposely or
otherwise。
'I feel as if I were almost ashamed to be seen walking such a
world；' she murmured； 'that's the effect it has upon me； but it does
not induce me to be honest particularly。'
He took her hand in both his； and looked down upon the lids of her
eyes。
'I pity you sometimes；' he said more emphatically。
'I am pitiable； perhaps； so are many people。 Why do you pity me？'
'I think that you make yourself needlessly sad。'
'Not needlessly。'
'Yes； needlessly。 Why should you be separated from your brother so
much； when you might have him to stay with you till he is well？'
'That can't be；' she said； turning away。
He went on； 'I think the real and only good thing that can be done
for him is to get him away from Budmouth awhile； and I have been
wondering whether it could not be managed for him to come to my
house to live for a few weeks。 Only a quarter of a mile from you。
How pleasant it would be！'
'It would。'
He moved himself round immediately to the front of her； and held her
hand more firmly； as he continued； 'Cytherea； why do you say 〃It
would；〃 so entirely in the tone of abstract supposition？ I want him
there： I want him to be my brother； too。 Then make him so； and be
my wife！ I cannot live without you。 O Cytherea。 my darling； my
love； come and be my wife！'
His face bent closer and closer to hers； and the last words sank to
a whisper as weak as the emotion inspiring it was strong。
She said firmly and distinctly； 'Yes； I will。'
'Next month？' he said on the instant； before taking breath。
'No； not next month。'
'The next？'
'No。'
'December？ Christmas Day； say？'
'I don't mind。'
'O； you darling！' He was about to imprint a kiss upon her pale；
cold mouth； but she hastily covered it with her hand。
'Don't kiss meat least where we are now！' she whispered
imploringly。
'Why？'
'We are too near God。'
He gave a sudden start； and his face flushed。 She had spoken so
emphatically that the words 'Nea