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 	<body epub:type="bodymatter z3998:fiction">
 		<section id="chapter-40" epub:type="chapter">
 			<h2 epub:type="ordinal z3998:roman">XL</h2>
-			<p>“I hope, sir, as I haven’t said anything to give offence?⁠—it was far from my meaning,” said Tozer; “not as the⁠—person⁠—is a church-member, being only a seat-holder for one sittin’, as is down in the books. I wouldn’t have come over, not so early, <abbr>Mr.</abbr> Vincent, if it wasn’t as I was wishful to try if you’d listen to reason about the meetin’ as is appointed to be tonight. It ain’t no interest of mine, not so far as money goes, nor nothing of that kind. It’s you as I’m a-thinking of. I don’t mind standing the expense out of my own pocket, if so be as you’d give in to make it a tea-meetin’. I don’t know as you’d need to do nothing but take the chair and make yourself agreeable. Me and Brown and the women would manage the rest. It would be a pleasant surprise, that’s what it would be,” said the good butterman; “and Phoebe and some more would go down directly to make ready: and I don’t doubt as there’s cakes and buns enough in Carlingford, <abbr>Mr.</abbr> Vincent, sir, if you’d but bend your mind to it and consent.”</p>
+			<p>“I hope, sir, as I haven’t said anything to give offence?⁠—it was far from my meaning,” said Tozer; “not as the⁠—person⁠—is a church-member, being only a seat-holder for one sittin’, as is down in the books. I wouldn’t have come over, not so early, <abbr epub:type="z3998:name-title">Mr.</abbr> Vincent, if it wasn’t as I was wishful to try if you’d listen to reason about the meetin’ as is appointed to be tonight. It ain’t no interest of mine, not so far as money goes, nor nothing of that kind. It’s you as I’m a-thinking of. I don’t mind standing the expense out of my own pocket, if so be as you’d give in to make it a tea-meetin’. I don’t know as you’d need to do nothing but take the chair and make yourself agreeable. Me and Brown and the women would manage the rest. It would be a pleasant surprise, that’s what it would be,” said the good butterman; “and Phoebe and some more would go down directly to make ready: and I don’t doubt as there’s cakes and buns enough in Carlingford, <abbr epub:type="z3998:name-title">Mr.</abbr> Vincent, sir, if you’d but bend your mind to it and consent.”</p>
 			<p>“I am going out,” said Vincent; “I have⁠—something to do; don’t detain me, Tozer. I must have this morning to myself.”</p>
-			<p>“I’ll walk with you, sir, if I ain’t in the way,” said the deacon, accompanying the young man’s restless steps downstairs. “They tell me Miss is a deal better, and all things is going on well. I wouldn’t be meddlesome, <abbr>Mr.</abbr> Vincent, not of my own will; but when matters is settling, sir, if you’d but hear reason! There can’t nothing but harm come of more explanations. I never had no confidence in explanations, for my part; but pleasant looks and the urns a-smoking, and a bit of green on the wall, as Phoebe and the rest could put up in no time! and just a speech as was agreeable to wind up with⁠—a bit of an anecdote, or poetry about friends as is better friends after they’ve spoke their minds and had it out⁠—that’s the thing as would settle Salem, <abbr>Mr.</abbr> Vincent. I don’t speak, not to bother you, sir, but for your good. There ain’t no difficulty in it; it’s easier a deal than being serious and opening up all things over again; and as for them as would like to dictate⁠—”</p>
+			<p>“I’ll walk with you, sir, if I ain’t in the way,” said the deacon, accompanying the young man’s restless steps downstairs. “They tell me Miss is a deal better, and all things is going on well. I wouldn’t be meddlesome, <abbr epub:type="z3998:name-title">Mr.</abbr> Vincent, not of my own will; but when matters is settling, sir, if you’d but hear reason! There can’t nothing but harm come of more explanations. I never had no confidence in explanations, for my part; but pleasant looks and the urns a-smoking, and a bit of green on the wall, as Phoebe and the rest could put up in no time! and just a speech as was agreeable to wind up with⁠—a bit of an anecdote, or poetry about friends as is better friends after they’ve spoke their minds and had it out⁠—that’s the thing as would settle Salem, <abbr epub:type="z3998:name-title">Mr.</abbr> Vincent. I don’t speak, not to bother you, sir, but for your good. There ain’t no difficulty in it; it’s easier a deal than being serious and opening up all things over again; and as for them as would like to dictate⁠—”</p>
 			<p>“I am not thinking of Salem,” said the minister; “I have many other things to distract me; for heaven’s sake, if you have any pity, leave me alone today.”</p>
 			<p>“But you’ll give in to make it a tea-meetin’?” said the anxious butterman, pausing at his own door.</p>
 			<p>Tozer did not make out the minister’s reply. It is difficult to distinguish between a nod and a shake of the head, under some circumstances⁠—and Vincent did not pause to give an articulate answer, but left his champion to his own devices. It seemed to Vincent to be a long time since Fordham left his house⁠—and he was possessed with a fever of impatience to see for himself what was being transacted down yonder in the sunshine, where the spire of <abbr>St.</abbr> Roque’s appeared in the distance through the ruddy morning haze. The bells had ceased, and all was quiet enough in Grange Lane. Quite quiet⁠—a few ordinary passengers in the tranquil road, nursemaids and children⁠—and the calm green doors closing in the concealed houses, as if no passion or agitation could penetrate them. The door of Lady Western’s garden was ajar. The minister crossed over and looked in with a wistful, despairing hope of seeing something that would contradict his conclusion. The house was basking in the spring sunshine⁠—the door open, some of the windows open, eager servants hovering about, an air of expectation over all. With eyes full of memories, the minister looked in at the half-open door, which one time and another had been to him the gate of paradise. Within, where the red geraniums and verbenas had once brightened all the borders, were pale crocuses and flowers of early spring⁠—the limes were beginning to bud, the daisies to grow among the grass. The winter was over in that sheltered and sunny place; Nature herself stood sweet within the protecting walls, and gathered all the tenderest sweets of spring to greet the bride in the new beginning of her life. It was but a glance, but the spectator, in the bitterness of his heart, did not lose a single tint or line; and just then the joy-bells burst out once more from <abbr>St.</abbr> Roque’s. Poor Vincent drew back from the door as the sudden sound stung him to the heart. Nothing had any pity for him⁠—all the world, and every voice and breath therein, sided with the others in their joy. He went on blindly, without thinking where he was going, with a kind of dull, stubborn determination in his heart, not to turn back in his wretchedness even from the sight of the happy procession which he knew must be advancing to meet him. A pang more or less, what did it matter? And for the last time he would look on Her who was nothing in the world to him now⁠—who never could have been anything⁠—yet who had somehow shed such streams of light upon the poor minister’s humble path, as no reality in all his life had ever shed before. He paused on the edge of the road as he saw the carriage coming. It was one of those moments when a man’s entire life becomes apparent to him in long perspective of past and future, he himself and all the world standing still between. The bells rang on his heart, with echoes from the wheels and the horses’ feet coming up in superb pride and triumph. Heaven and earth were glad for her in her joy. He, in his great trouble, stood dark in the sunshine and looked on.</p>