nosing toward the surface. Bible phrases gallop around his head once more. Is there not a verse somewhere about losing every battle and winning the war? The lamp of providence seems to brighten as the breeze sweeps through the laneway. Heâs not defeated yet.
***
Moodyâs high canvas hangs over him again. Tonight he has thrown himself into the service, the songs, the spontaneous yells, and the blessed helplessness of it all. Standing in the midst of the huddled crowd, he sinks once more into the oblivion of trust. The mystifying currents of hope tug at the seams of his imagination, loosening the shingle of half-forgotten griefs and joys, and he finds himself calling out his praises with the rest. Tears flow, and again he is ecstatic to be part of an infinite whole. He has been saved, it is true. He has ventured into dangers and has, apparently, come through hardly scathed. And there is an unexpected bonus; somehow he really has managed to affect the woman he loves.
Still held in a cloud of sublime acceptance, he shuffles out of the tent with all the rest. The hands of his fellow men come down warm upon his shoulder and heâonce proudâaccepts the proffered comfort, takes in the gentle but often careworn faces of his companions, and reciprocates in kind, and a murmur of comfort passes through the crowd. Just as he reaches the tentâs opening, crisp night air reaching his lungs, he feels one touch firmer than the rest. It strengthens its grip upon his upper arm and he turns, ready to respond, but confronts instead the hooded eyes and the self-satisfied smirk of Grenfell.
âYou have something to confess, my brother?â
His arm pulls from the hold, and even in his shock heâs ashamed of the jaggedness in his movements, begins searching for some means to bring this exchange into line with the grace and harmony of the service. But words escape him, and Grenfell remains perfectly motionless and endlessly confident.
âI thought I would repay the compliment and let you know how it feels to have a shadow.â
In the presence of the crowd still milling around him, the young doctor still feels some ambient sense of comfort, and some safety, also, but he knows they will soon thin out and disperse. He thinks briefly of ducking in among their number while there is still time, but knows this would require a swift and violent act quite out of place in this setting. His heart picks up its pace, readying itself for a larger and more drawn-out confrontation.
âI followed you from your lodging tonight. Only two tavern stops. What commendable restraint!â
âIâve got to go,â the young doctor mumbles and tries to turn away, but Grenfell grips both his arms at the shoulders and pulls him close, pats him briefly on the back as he does so, to give the impression to onlookers this is a warm and hearty embrace. The young doctor catches the approving smile of a lady passing with a tambourine. âIf you followed me,â he says quietly, âthen youâre the spy now. Youâre no better than me.â
âI havenât forged a letter in your name and I donât spy,â Grenfell replies, teeth gritting under his smile. âI watch. Iâm charged with the protection of a young woman who feels very threatened by your antics. In any case,â he says, releasing one hand for as long as it takes to pat the young doctorâs shoulder a tad too hard. âI want to find out what a character like you really gets up to. I never would have dreamed in a million years I would find you in a place like this. I saw you weeping, too. Your eyes are still red.â
The young doctor has a sudden urge to spit at Grenfell. He sees clearly what he always expected was there: the kind of boy who listens with conspicuous attention to his masters at school, who is rewarded with the title of prefect, and house captain, but all in order to gather the reins of authority to himself, to
***
Moodyâs high canvas hangs over him again. Tonight he has thrown himself into the service, the songs, the spontaneous yells, and the blessed helplessness of it all. Standing in the midst of the huddled crowd, he sinks once more into the oblivion of trust. The mystifying currents of hope tug at the seams of his imagination, loosening the shingle of half-forgotten griefs and joys, and he finds himself calling out his praises with the rest. Tears flow, and again he is ecstatic to be part of an infinite whole. He has been saved, it is true. He has ventured into dangers and has, apparently, come through hardly scathed. And there is an unexpected bonus; somehow he really has managed to affect the woman he loves.
Still held in a cloud of sublime acceptance, he shuffles out of the tent with all the rest. The hands of his fellow men come down warm upon his shoulder and heâonce proudâaccepts the proffered comfort, takes in the gentle but often careworn faces of his companions, and reciprocates in kind, and a murmur of comfort passes through the crowd. Just as he reaches the tentâs opening, crisp night air reaching his lungs, he feels one touch firmer than the rest. It strengthens its grip upon his upper arm and he turns, ready to respond, but confronts instead the hooded eyes and the self-satisfied smirk of Grenfell.
âYou have something to confess, my brother?â
His arm pulls from the hold, and even in his shock heâs ashamed of the jaggedness in his movements, begins searching for some means to bring this exchange into line with the grace and harmony of the service. But words escape him, and Grenfell remains perfectly motionless and endlessly confident.
âI thought I would repay the compliment and let you know how it feels to have a shadow.â
In the presence of the crowd still milling around him, the young doctor still feels some ambient sense of comfort, and some safety, also, but he knows they will soon thin out and disperse. He thinks briefly of ducking in among their number while there is still time, but knows this would require a swift and violent act quite out of place in this setting. His heart picks up its pace, readying itself for a larger and more drawn-out confrontation.
âI followed you from your lodging tonight. Only two tavern stops. What commendable restraint!â
âIâve got to go,â the young doctor mumbles and tries to turn away, but Grenfell grips both his arms at the shoulders and pulls him close, pats him briefly on the back as he does so, to give the impression to onlookers this is a warm and hearty embrace. The young doctor catches the approving smile of a lady passing with a tambourine. âIf you followed me,â he says quietly, âthen youâre the spy now. Youâre no better than me.â
âI havenât forged a letter in your name and I donât spy,â Grenfell replies, teeth gritting under his smile. âI watch. Iâm charged with the protection of a young woman who feels very threatened by your antics. In any case,â he says, releasing one hand for as long as it takes to pat the young doctorâs shoulder a tad too hard. âI want to find out what a character like you really gets up to. I never would have dreamed in a million years I would find you in a place like this. I saw you weeping, too. Your eyes are still red.â
The young doctor has a sudden urge to spit at Grenfell. He sees clearly what he always expected was there: the kind of boy who listens with conspicuous attention to his masters at school, who is rewarded with the title of prefect, and house captain, but all in order to gather the reins of authority to himself, to
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