At this point Brother Raphe put down his pen and took a turn or two round the room, the better to recall the scene to his mind. It puzzled him to remember that while one part of his judgment had applauded Mrs Bailey, her anger and distress, another part was won to the reluctant verdict that Tisha was the better woman. Despite her sullen looks and stubbornly evasive answers, and even despite the scandal of her deeds, he judged her to be sound at core; and, whether by intuition or guesswork, he quickly surprised her secret, perceiving her to be ashamed less of her passion than of her malice. That she seemed too little repentant of her carnal sin distressed him, but he rejoiced to find her purged of the deadlier and spiritual distemper, and could not in his heart think so ill of her as her parents were resolved to do. He resumed his letter:
Not that you are to think Mrs Bailey a mere virago, for she is an honest good body enough, as we have always found; but this affliction hath set her beside herself, and I fancy it galls her that her husband, with less relish for vengeance than she, holds himself something aloof and apart in this affair and is inclined to be over-tender with his daughter, whom she, for her part, cannot bewhore enough, though in the same breath she calls her an innocent fool. Indeed, were she a sensible woman she would be at a loss how to reconcile the one charge with the other; for she must have it, since Letitia is her daughter, that Letitia is something little short of a saint; and further, since Letitia hath play’d a wanton’s part, that Letitia is a wicked slut. So it would seem that Letitia is two persons, and that the paragon her mother conceiv’d hath been corrupted by the hussy her father begat. Yet this, too, is unsatisfying doctrine, for the good woman blames and acquits her daughter a dozen times in as many seconds, and insists that Noke is the sole authour of this notable wickedness. But, to make an end of levity, it is in all conscience a bad business; and Satan hath done his work well; and I heartily pray that his triumph of poor Tisha may be short-liv’d, and by God’s grace it shall be so.
But I perceive that if I make not better speed with my Tale you will be out of all patience with me; so must tell you that we had quite a procession come to Maiden Holt, demanding “that they must see Squire Marden on a whipping matter.” To which I returned answer “that if they must see Squire Marden they had best prepare themselves for a day’s journey”; but came out on the heels of this message to meet them and discover what was amiss. Whereupon the foregoing history comes pouring out upon me, from as many mouths as were present, in one great confluence, so that I was hard put to it to make sense of their much matter; for in addition to the three Baileys there were come Mykelborne with wife and daughter and a very officious smart young fellow named Broome and a good half-dozen others, with the seducer, Noke, truss’d up in their midst and having as little to say as the rest had much. When I could obtain a hearing I warn’d them that “it was not in my power to order a whipping and that pending your return they would do best to go peacefully home again.” This did not please my petitioners, and they vow’d they would take the law into their own hands and away to the stocks with this rascal, and that Parson Croup was a good-natured gentleman and would never gainsay them, and much more to the same tune. “Give me leave to finish what I was saying,” said I, “and tell me what hinders the pair from marrying and so making their peace with God.” And then the worst of the tale came out, for Mykelborne, push’d forward by his Womenfolk, and urged to “speak up like a man”, makes bold to ask me “whether I was so bad a Christian as to make a whore of his daughter Jenny,” adding such plain words as convinced me that she too, to wit Jenny Mykelborne, is in a fair way to becoming the mother of a bastard by Noke; whereupon the rogue himself cries out, with a defiant laugh, “that he is ready to take both wenches to church, if that will satisfy them, but if he must choose betwixt ’em, then he’ll marry Jenny.” For this sauciness he was rough-handled by Broome, who, when I asked him why he concern’d himself in this affair, declares “that but for this disgrace he would have married the wench himself.” As to which of the twain he meant we were not left long in doubt, for Tisha Bailey, who had as yet not spoke a word, was heard to say that Broome flatter’d himself, for “she would never have married such a conceited coxcomb though she had been fifty times a virgin”; a speech having more spirit than sense, for virginity does not admit of numerical graduation. But before I could interpose further, accusations were flying thick and fast; a deal of mud was stirred up, and by what was said it soon became clear that there was not a man among them but had some lewdness and lechery to answer for, so that it was a pretty sight to see them all so zealous in reprobation of their brother. None the less they would not be dissuaded of their purpose, and though I charged them in God’s name to do nothing in malice, my words fell upon deaf ears, as the sequel proved, for before nightfall the man Noke had been duckt and pillory’d and pelted with all manner of offal. He is a sorry rogue and deserves to smart for it, but the spirit of his persecutors is such as only the Devil can delight in: indeed there is more of the Devil in this than in the sin it pretends to punish, grievous though that is. I find it not easy to think with charity of this rabble, so little concerned with true goodness, yet so merry and lascivious in the persecution of malefactors; but they are God’s creatures no less than we, and we must beware of thinking ourselves to be of more account in His sight than the least or worst of them.
With this salutary reflection Brother Raphe again laid down his pen; and presently, leaving the letter unfinished, he rose and went in search of food for the doves. In these gentle creatures he took great pleasure: the delicate sheen of their plumage charmed him; their voices comforted his heart and conjured him out of winter into a paradise of sunshine and green shadow and running water; and the pattern of their flight was a continuing counterpoint, innocent and subtle as the love of God. He sometimes indulged the fancy that the spirits of the blest would from time to time assume the form of doves, and that he himself might some day spread wings and fly away and be at rest in flight, and, in that contemplation of the Eternal which was God’s bounty to the disimprisoned soul, forget the cruelties and enmities and dolorous disasters of earth. The dovecote was a stout red-bricked building surrounded by tall birches: in summer a cool refuge, in winter feathery warm with duskiness and soft crooning and fluttering wings. This morning, as he entered, he experienced more than ever a feeling of sanctuary. At his first word of greeting, the air became full of wings, a winged cloud that settled upon him, his head, his shoulders, his outstretched arms: he stood like a man drenched in a fountain of birds, drenched and contented. ‘Now, my dears,’ said he, ‘it is breakfast-time. Let me see what I can find in my pocket. But first of all . . .’ First of all, lest there should chance to be a Christian among them, he said grace, and at the words ‘et spiritus sancti’ he thought of the Holy Dove and became lost for a moment in radiant conjecture. . . .