The Project Gutenberg Etext of God's Good Man, by Marie Corelli
#7 in our series by Marie Corelli

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Title: God's Good Man

Author: Marie Corelli

Release Date: November, 2003 [Etext #4653]
[Yes, we are more than one year ahead of schedule]
[This file was first posted on February 21, 2002]

Edition: 10

Language: English

Character set encoding: ASCII

The Project Gutenberg Etext of God's Good Man, by Marie Corelli
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GOD'S GOOD MAN

A Simple Love Story

By MARIE CORELLI

AUTHOR OF "THE TREASURE OF HEAVEN," "THELMA," "A ROMANCE OF TWO
WORLDS," "THE MASTER CHRISTIAN," ETC.





                         TO

                 THE LIVING ORIGINAL

                         OF

             "THE REVEREND JOHN WALDEN"

                   AND HIS WIFE

              THIS SIMPLE LOVE STORY

                        IS

             AFFECTIONATELY DEDICATED

"THERE WAS A MAN SENT FROM GOD WHOSE NAME WAS JOHN."
                                   NEW TESTAMENT






GOD'S GOOD MAN




I


It was May-time in England.

The last breath of a long winter had blown its final farewell across
the hills,--the last frost had melted from the broad, low-lying
fields, relaxing its iron grip from the clods of rich, red-brown
earth which, now, soft and broken, were sprouting thick with the
young corn's tender green. It had been a hard, inclement season.
Many a time, since February onward, had the too-eagerly pushing buds
of trees and shrubs been nipped by cruel cold,--many a biting east
wind had withered the first pale green leaves of the lilac and the
hawthorn,--and the stormy caprices of a chill northern. Spring had
played havoc with all the dainty woodland blossoms that should,
according to the ancient 'Shepherd's Calendar' have been flowering
fully with the daffodils and primroses. But during the closing days
of April a sudden grateful warmth had set in,--Nature, the divine
goddess, seemed to awaken from long slumber and stretch out her arms
with a happy smile,--and when May morning dawned on the world, it
came as a vision of glory, robed in clear sunshine and girdled with
bluest skies. Birds broke into enraptured song,--young almond and
apple boughs quivered almost visibly every moment into pink and
white bloom,--cowslips and bluebells raised their heads from mossy
corners in the grass, and expressed their innocent thoughts in
sweetest odour--and in and through all things the glorious thrill,
the mysterious joy of renewed life, hope and love pulsated from the
Creator to His responsive creation.

It was May-time;--a real 'old-fashioned' English May, such as
Spenser and Herrick sang of:

                           "When all is yclad
     With blossoms; the ground with grass, the woodes
     With greene leaves; the bushes with blossoming buddes,"

and when whatever promise our existence yet holds for us, seems far
enough away to inspire ambition, yet close enough to encourage fair
dreams of fulfilment. To experience this glamour and witchery of the
flowering-time of the year, one must, perforce, be in the country.
For in the towns, the breath of Spring is foetid and feverish,--it
arouses sick longings and weary regrets, but scarcely any positive
ecstasy. The close, stuffy streets, the swarming people, the high
buildings and stacks of chimneys which only permit the narrowest
patches of sky to be visible, the incessant noise and movement, the
self-absorbed crowding and crushing,--all these things are so many
offences to Nature, and are as dead walls of obstacle set against
the revivifying and strengthening forces with which she endows her
freer children of the forest, field and mountain. Out on the wild
heathery moorland, in the heart of the woods, in the deep bosky
dells, where the pungent scent of moss and pine-boughs fills the air
with invigorating influences, or by the quiet rivers, flowing
peacefully under bending willows and past wide osier-beds, where the
kingfish