" Certain recent letters of Dyce appeared in a
new light when seen from this point of view. It was too disagreeable
a subject; the vicar strove to dismiss it from his mind.
In the afternoon, he had to visit a dying man, an intelligent
shopkeeper, who, while accepting the visit as a proof of kindness,
altogether refused spiritual comfort, and would speak of nothing but
the future of his children. Straightway Mr. Lashmar became the
practical consoler, lavish of kindly forethought. Only when he came
forth did he ask himself whether he could possibly fulfil half of
what he had undertaken.
"It is easier," he reflected, "to make promises for the world to
come. Is it not also better? After all, can I not do it with a
clearer conscience?"
He walked slowly, worrying about this and fifty other things,
feeling a very Atlas under the globe's oppression. Rig way took him
across a field in which there was a newly bourgeoned copse; he
remembered that, last spring, he had found white violets about the
roots of the trees. A desire for their beauty and odour possessed
him; he turned across the grass.
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