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 never to live together as man and wife, never so long as their minds and bodies were occupied in their consecration to Christ. It was Emma Downes who arranged everything, standing in the parlor on the day of the wedding, talking to a Philip dressed in black and newly ordained both as missionary and bridegroom.

When he thought of his mother it was always as he had seen her on that day—wise, powerful, good and filled with joy and faith, in her purple merino dress with the gold chain attached to Aunt Maria's watch—a woman to whom he owed everything.

He could hear her saying with a strange translucent clarity, "Of course, now that you and Naomi have given yourselves to God, you must sacrifice everything to your work—pleasure, temptations, even" (and here her voice dropped a little) "even the hope of children. Because it is impossible to think of Naomi having a child in the midst of Africa. And any other way would be the blackest of sins. Of course it wouldn't be right for a young girl like Naomi to go to a post with a man she wasn't married to—so you must just act as if you weren't married to her. . . . Some day, perhaps when you have a year's leave from the post, you might have a child. I could take care of it, of course, when you went back."

And then looking aside, she had added, "Naomi asked me to speak to you about it. She's so shy and pure, she couldn't bring herself to do it. I promised her I would."

Sitting on the edge of the narrow sofa, he had promised because life was still very hazy to him and the promise seemed a small and unimportant thing.