Caillaud, the Major,
Pauline, condemned to the everlasting consequences of the wrath of
the Almighty! He could not pronounce such a sentence, and yet his
conscience whispered that just for want of the last nail in a sure
place what he had built would come tumbling to the ground. During
the conversation the time had stolen away, and, to their horror,
Zachariah and his wife discovered that it was a quarter-past six. He
hastily informed his guests that he had hoped they would attend him
to his chapel. Would they go? The Major consented. He had nothing
particular on hand, but Caillaud and Pauline refused. Zachariah was
particularly urgent that these two should accompany him, but they
were steadfast, for all set religious performances were hateful to
them.
"No, Coleman, no more; I know what it all means."
"And I," added Pauline, "cannot sit still with so many respectable
people; I never could. I have been to church, and always felt
impelled to do something peculiar in it which would have made them
turn me out. I cannot, too, endure preaching. I cannot tolerate
that man up in the pulpit looking down over all the people--so wise
and so self-satisfied.
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