I did not forget through the week Mrs. Le Grande's eagerness for Mr. Winthrop to attend church, and although not permitting myself, if possible, to impute false motives to others, I concluded it was not anxiety for his spiritual well-being that prompted the desire on her part. However I resolved to ask him, and was very anxious that he should grant my request. The day dawned bright and clear, one of those hopeful days with promise of the coming summer in the clear shining of the February sun. At breakfast Mr. Winthrop spoke of the rare loveliness of the morning; the blue of the sky, soft and tender as a mother's eye, with here and there a fleecy cloud such as painters love to put on their canvas. Away to the south, the sea was dimpling and sparkling in ten thousand broken ripples, with here and there a brave vessel sailing away over the cold, heaving waters.

Mr. Winthrop seemed in more genial mood than he had been for a week; and when he left the table I followed him to the door, where he stood gazing with eyes trained to take in intelligently the charming scene. I stood silent, entering in a very half-hearted manner into his keen enjoyment of the picture painted by God's own hand, spread out before us.

"It is no use for a man to attempt copying that living, throbbing scene, nor yet to describe it," he said, with an air of dissatisfaction.

"To copy would be easy, compared with creating it," I suggested timidly.

"Yes; but when, and by whom done? That is the question that maddens one," he answered after a long pause.

"The Bible says the same hand that was nailed to the cross on Calvary created it. 'By whom also the worlds were made,'" I murmured.

"Ah, if we only had some evidence of that; but it is all dark, dark, on the other side of death, and on the other side of life too. Whence came we—whither do we tend? What power sent Sirius and all that galaxy of suns marching serenely through space? We, in our little planet-ship, falling into line, going like comets one day, and then vanishing; but the worlds moving on unconscious of our departure, and yet some power controls them and us. Medoline, to have my faith anchored as yours is, to a beneficent, all-powerful God, I would be willing to die this instant if I might be absorbed into Him, or be taken into his presence forever. You who can calmly accept your religion as you do the atmosphere you inhale, should live as far above earthly passions and entanglements, as those light clouds hanging in yonder vault are above the earth; nay, rather like the stars which only touch us by that law of the universe that holds the remotest stars together."

"Have you tried any more earnestly to find the God of the Bible than you have done Boodh or Vishnu, or other man-created deities?" I asked.

He turned to me in his keen, incisive way:—"No, Medoline, I cannot say that I have—not since boyhood, at least, when my mother, who loved the God whom Israel served so indifferently, endeavored to train my rebellious will to His service."

"You have lived all these years Godless?"

"In plain English, yes."

"Then that great star, Sirius, you just spoke of, and all the other suns, and their systems, as well as the humblest created things, have fulfilled the purposes of their Maker's will, save the last supreme effort of His power—man, originally made a 'little lower than God.' I wonder that I honor you as I do, when you deny the existence of my God and Saviour."

He looked down at me with a gentleness at which I was surprised, and his next question did not lessen this.

"Would you be terrified if death, in some form, were suddenly to seize you, dismissing you from your present environments into the unclothed state, could you trust, to the uttermost, this mighty Being whose friendship you so confidently claim?"

I paused before replying. Certainly death just then did not seem welcome. I loved life and enjoyed it, and longed for its fuller experiences. As I studied his question, there came a fear that, since I clung with such desire to life, I could not be fitted for higher places. No doubt he saw the pained, uncertain look on my face, which his question had caused.

"If God wished for me to leave this world," I said, slowly, "no doubt he would give me the necessary grace and fortitude to do so patiently; but I do not want to die now, unless it is His will. I love my life, and would like to serve my generation for a good many years. There are such grand opportunities to be useful to others."

"That is a more healthy type of piety than I would have given you credit for. I am glad you are not anxious to leave us. The Superior powers are apt to humor such fancies in the young, and remove them from this distasteful world."

I saw that a lighter mood was taking the place of his more serious one of a few minutes before, and I hastened to make my request. "Won't you come to church with me this bright morning, Mr. Winthrop?"

He looked at me with that clear, honest gaze that always seemed to penetrate my deepest thoughts.

"Why do you make that request? You have never asked me before."

A guilty blush crimsoned my face, and I murmured something about wanting him to go particularly that morning, and then hastily entered the house. As I put on my bonnet and cloak for church, I made up my mind never to make a request of him again without being able to give a good, honest reason for it.

The bell of St. Mark's began ringing as I went down the broad staircase. I paused a moment at the library door, and then went on to the drawing-room, where Mrs. Flaxman usually awaited me. I was surprised to find her sitting near the fire, a book in her hand, and no preparation made for church.

"You must go alone this morning, I fear."

"Are you not well?"

"No, dear; I cannot even plead a headache. I might go deeper, though; for I have had a heartache of late."

"Have you got bad news from Hubert?"

"On the contrary, I have had better news than usual from him in his last few letters; but, dear, I may have other anxieties than merely personal ones."

"Our anxieties should send us to God's house, and not keep us away—don't you think?"

"Yes, in most cases. Some day I may explain all this to you, Medoline; but not now."

"Good-bye, then," I said, kissing the sweet, gentle face, and thinking I knew what was keeping her at home. As I passed into the hall, I saw Mr. Winthrop coming down from his own room; but I did not pause to speak, thinking he was on his way to the library. My hand was on the door, when he called me back.

"After inviting me to church, are you going without me?"

I turned and saw that he was taking his hat.

"Are you really going?"

"Yes, really. I would be rude, indeed, to slight your first invitation."

"Do you come this morning merely because I invited you?" I asked, incredulously.

"Do you consider it courteous to inquire too minutely into the motives of your friends?"

I was silent while I stood for a few seconds regarding him closely. I wondered if he had not taken special pains with his toilet; for I had never seen him look so regally handsome before. He may have detected my admiring gaze; for he said, lightly:

"What is wrong, that you favor me with such scrutinizing glances?"

"There is nothing wrong, Mr. Winthrop, so far as my eyes can penetrate. I trust that to clearer vision than mine what lies deeper than human gaze can pierce, is equally perfect."

"Is it your custom, little one, to pay your male acquaintances such open compliments?"

"It was not a compliment. I only spoke the truth," I said, quietly, as we walked side by side down the lilac-bordered footpath, the way we always went to church when we walked, as it cut off a-half mile or more. It was a charming walk in summer; but now the low bushes looked common and ungraceful, stripped of their foliage; but the ground was high, and over their tops we could see the distant hills and the sun-kissed sea. And this morning as I tripped lightly by my guardian's side, I fancied I had never seen this quiet pathway even in its midsummer glory look so perfect.

"It is a wise plan not to tell your friends the truth always. Masculine vanity is occasionally as strongly developed as feminine," he said after we had gone some time in silence.

"But you are not vain, Mr. Winthrop; I never saw any one so free from it," I said, gravely.

"You are determined to overwhelm me with your flattery. We must change our conversational topics altogether."

"First, let me ask if flattery is not half-sister to falsehood?"

"Probably they are pretty closely related; but why are you anxious to get that matter settled?"

"Because I do not want you to believe I ever tell you what is not true. I do not think I could, if I tried."

"You reserve that privilege, then, for your other friends."

"Oh, no; I am never tempted to be untruthful with them."

"And are you so tempted in your relation with me?" he asked, a little sternly.

"Sometimes."

"Why, Medoline, you astonish me. Tell me what reason you have for being so tempted?"

"You make me afraid of you; that is my only reason," I murmured, trembling already with a touch of my natural fear of him.

"I am sorry to know that I stand in the relation of an ogre to you."

"You do not, and I never meant to tell you that. I am afraid of you. By and bye, when I get a little older, I do not think that I shall be; but you make me tell you everything."

"If that is the case I am surprised you have so little wrong-doing to confess. I believe you will ultimately convince me that a few of your sex have escaped the taint of their evil inheritance."

His words caused such a thrill of delight that, remembering what a tell-tale face I had, I turned my head to watch intently the white sails of a ship far away to the left; but I presently bethought myself to inquire what our special inheritance was.

"That which Eve left her daughters—deceit."

"But, Mr. Winthrop, we are alike descendants of hers; and the sons as often take after their mother as their father."

"That is not a bad hit. It never occurred to me before. Men and women, however, are different; whether created so originally we do not know. But sometimes we meet a woman combining the best qualities of both sexes; but so far as my experience goes, they are the rarest product of creative skill. I dare say there are men occasionally combining the same beautiful qualities."

"I think Mr. Bowen does."

"Have you ever told him as much?" Mr. Winthrop asked, with an odd smile.

"No, I have scarcely said anything to him about his goodness. I like best to let him do the talking when we are together."

"I am getting curious to see that man."

"Oh, Mr. Winthrop, if you would only come with me to their church. They are having wonderful meetings, and people are getting converted."

"What church is it?"

"Beech Street, I heard the minister pray at Mrs. Blake's funeral, and once since at the Larkums. I have longed to hear him again. I never heard anything like it in my life. It reminded me of a beautiful poem or oratorio."

"Why, have you not gone to his church, then, to hear him?"

"I feared you might be displeased."

We walked on some distance in silence. I stole a quick look once at his face to see if he was angry, but he seemed in one of his abstracted moods, and I reflected that by this time, he had probably forgotten my existence. But I was mistaken; for all at once he said abruptly, as he stood holding open the gate that led from the footpath into the main street. "You have been a more obedient girl than I expected any of your sex could be, especially one with your keen, impetuous nature. To reward your fidelity I will go to the Beech Street church whenever you wish." I looked up at him, the grateful tears in my eyes, but some way my feelings had got beyond my control, and I dared not attempt to thank him. We joined the crowds on the sidewalk and after a while he said:—

"You have not thanked me, Medoline; don't you appreciate my offer?"

I tried to speak; but my lip quivered, and I remained silent.

"You have thanked me very eloquently, little one; more so than if you had used set phrases."

The remainder of our walk was completed mostly in silence. I scarce knew why, but my heart was as glad as if June roses and song birds had been about us as we went. I looked at some staid people,—old looking to me, though few of them were past fifty,—and pitied them that they too were not young and glad-hearted like me. As we neared the church, the sunshine and gladness suddenly grew dim, for there, in all her perfect loveliness, Mrs. Le Grande was approaching St. Mark's from the opposite direction. Impulsively I turned to Mr. Winthrop, hoping he would not see her; for usually he was quite oblivious of the presence of those who might be on the street with him. A glance assured me that he was looking at her, and that her desire was gratified. He took no notice, however, of my abrupt movement, and without change of expression or voice, said: "There seems a good many strangers on their way to church this morning. Some unusual circumstance must have occurred to bring out so many curious worshippers." I could not help smiling at the veiled irony in voice and words. Fortunately we were considerably nearer the church than Mrs. Le Grande, and without quickening our steps gained its shelter before she overtook us, although I saw she moved more quickly after she saw us. St. Mark's was an ancient church, built in old colonial days. One could easily fancy themselves in a country church in some quiet English village, as their eyes fell on the high-backed pews, narrow, stained glass-windows, and walls covered with memorial tablets, and the other peculiarities of a church over a century old. The Winthrop pew was near the pulpit. A large square one, and commanding an excellent view of the congregation. When Mrs. Le Grande entered, she paused for a moment, apparently taking a rapid survey of the church; when her eye fell on our pew. Without paying any attention to the usher, she glided to the nearest vacant seat to ours. Directly, I was conscious that very many eyes were upon us. Opening my Bible, I read mechanically the words before me; but no more conscious of their meaning than if they had been Sanscrit. When the service began, in the withdrawal of attention to other things, I took courage to look at Mr. Winthrop. He sat facing Mrs. Le Grande, but with face as unruffled as if he were reading his morning paper. I glanced next at Mrs. Le Grande. She sat with downcast eyes, her color varying fitfully. She might have been taken for some beautiful picture of penitence. I do not know if Mr. Winthrop vouchsafed her a single look, but from her expression I judged that she thought he was watching her closely. It was a relief when the service was ended, although my conscience painfully reminded me that I would have another master opportunity for listening to the preached gospel to repent of, or else to confront some day; for I had been so nervous I had not listened intelligently to a single sentence of the sermon.