"It is thou, foul spirit!" cried Sudbury, descending a step from the altar"it is thou who hast stimulated the thirst for blood, and hast brought the royal prerogative and holy church into contemptaway! ere, with my own hands, I drive thee hence!"
What there was in either Reuben or Naomi to make a poet of their eldest son would be hard to say. Perhaps it was the glow of their young love, so golden and romantic during the first year of their marriage. If so, there was something of bitter irony in this survival and transmutation of it. Odiam was no place for poets, and Reuben tried by every means in his power to knock the poetry out of Albert. It was not the actual poetry he objected to so much as the vices which went with itforgetfulness, unpracticalness, negligence. Albert would sometimes lose quite half an hour's work by falling into a dream, he also played truant on occasions, and would disappear for hours, indeed now and then for a day or more, wandering in the fields and spinneys, tasting the sharp sweetness of the dawn and the earth-flavoured sleep of the night."Love Ino. I've loved but one woman."
Firstthe steward and esquire stood on either side next the steps.That night was a purging. From thenceforward Reuben was to press on straight to his goal, with no more slackenings or diversions.
