the sacred dead, to whom she
had raised a shrine, was a memory and not a present reality to her; and
this thought only added to her confusion and her grief.

What was there to hold on to in life?

"O, put thy trust in God!" came the answer.

"Help me to make the mischance of my life a motive for greater moral
effort. Help me to be a willing sacrifice and not an unwilling victim."
And as she uttered these words she moved with more rapid steps.

Shadows were visible on the roadway; roofs glimmered and the edges of
the deep window recesses were tinged with a dark silver. She passed
under the walls of All Souls and emerged again into the High. A figure
she recognised confronted her. She tried to pass it without appearing to
be aware of it, and she hurried on with bent head. But it turned, and
Bingham's voice spoke to her.

"Mrs. Dashwood," he called softly.

She was forced to slacken her pace. "Oh, Mr. Bingham!" she said, and he
came and walked by her, making pretence that he was disturbing her
solitude because he had never been told the dinner-hour at the Lodgings,
when Lady Dashwood invited him, and, what was more important, he had
forgotten to say that he would be very glad if Mrs. Dashwood would make
use of him as a cicerone if she wanted any more sight-seeing in Oxford
and the Warden was unable to accompany her. This was the pretence he put
before her.

Then, when he had said all this and had walked a few yards along the
street with her, he seemed to forget that his business with her ought to
be over, and remarked that he had been trying to save Boreham's soul.

"His soul!" said May, with a sigh.

"I've been trying to make him work."

"Doesn't he work?" asked May.

"No, he preaches," said Bingham. "If he had a touch of genius he might
invent some attractive system of ethics in which his own characteristics
would be the right characteristics; some system in which humility and
patience would take a back seat."

May could not help smiling a little, Bingham's voice was so smooth and
soft; but she felt Boreham's loneliness again and ceased smiling.

"Or he might invent a new god," said Bingham, "a sort of composite
photograph of himself and the old gods. He might invent a new creed to
go along with it and damn all the old creeds. But he is incapable of
construction, so he merely preaches the destruction of Sodom and
Gomorrah, which is a soft job. Wherever he is, there is Sodom and
Gomorrah! You see my point?