Thomas Wingfold. Volume II by George MacDonald

Long ere he thus came to a close, Wingfold was blind to all and / every individuality before him -- felt only the general suffering of / the human soul, and the new-born hope for it that lay in the story / of the ideal man, the human God. He did not see that Helen's head / was down on the book-board. She was sobbing convulsively. In some / way the word had touched her, and had unsealed the fountain of / tears, if not of faith. Neither did he see the curl on the lip of / Bascombe, or the glance of annoyance which, every now and then, he / cast upon the bent head beside him. "What on earth are you crying / about? It is all in the way of his business, you know," said / Bascombe's eyes, but Helen did not hear them. One or two more in the / congregation were weeping, and here and there shone a face in which / the light seemed to prevent the tears. Polwarth shone and Rachel / wept. For the rest, the congregation listened only with varying / degrees of attention and indifference. The larger portion looked as / if neither Wingfold nor any other body ever meant anything -- at least / in the pulpit.

The moment Wingfold reached the vestry, he hurried off the garments / of his profession, sped from the Abbey, and all but ran across the / church-yard to his lodging. There he shut himself up in his chamber, / fearful lest he should have said more than he had yet a right to / say, and lest ebbing emotion should uncover the fact that he had / been but "fired by the running of his own wheels," and not inspired / by the guide of "the fiery-wheeled throne, the cherub Contemplation. " / There, from the congregation, from the church, from the sermon, from / the past altogether, he turned aside his face and would forget them / quite.