It seemed to Denys as if she had never felt so absolutely happy, so blissfully content, as she did when with Charlie's arm tucked into hers, they left the station together and made their way down the steep hill to the church.

All the worries of the day and the worries of the yesterdays had slipped from her, and not even the thought of Gertrude, awaiting them in the church porch, had power to disturb her.

Charlie and she were together, and before them stretched the days, the hours, the minutes, the seconds of a whole week! A whole, long, lovely week, of which only five minutes had already gone! Charlie's voice, his dear, familiar voice, though it only spoke of the trivialities of his journey, seemed like music to her. She did not know how her heart had hungered for him, till she felt how satisfied she was now in his presence.

They reached the church before she thought it possible; Gertrude was not in the porch, and Denys paused a moment in the doorway and glanced about for her. Yes! there she was, some distance down the aisle, comfortably ensconced between Mrs. Henchman's medical man, Dr. Wyatt, and his sister, and as Denys descried her, she turned her pretty face to answer some remark of the doctor's and caught sight of Denys and Charlie, and her smile and shake of the head were easily translated.

"She is not going to sit with us," said Charlie, "so that's all right."

It was nearly eight o'clock, and Denys, full of her happy thoughts, let her eyes wander round the church, noting its pillars, its high arched roof, its electric lights, and the ever-increasing crowd which moved softly up the aisle till every seat that she could see was occupied.

And then came the choir. She watched their faces eagerly. Would she recognise Billy Burr? And which was Dickie Lowe? Ah! those two must be the golden-haired twins about whom Mr. Owen had told her and Charlie three years ago, now no longer the foremost in the little procession, but as unknowable apart as ever, as they preceded the tenors. And there, behind all, was Mr. Owen's familiar face! Denys knelt with all the congregation, waiting and longing to hear his deep, strong voice in the collects which began the service. But it was a curate who read the prayers, and the words passed unheeded over Denys's head, for her heart was back in Saltmarsh among the days when she had first known Mr. Owen and Charlie.

So the music began and a voice rose plaintively—

The words came into the midst of Denys's wandering thoughts with a startling suddenness. She saw again the darkness gathering under the trees, the black shadows of the bushes and the Easter moon above!

How the voice rang down the church!

What had she come there for?

To think of Charlie—of her happiness? She could have stayed at home to do that.

Was it for the music she had come? No, for mere music she would not have come out on this first evening of Charlie's return.

For what had she come then?

The tender words stole down into the depths of her heart and stirred it to a tenderness that she had never felt for her Saviour before. She seemed, as the organ sounded out the Processional to Calvary, to be one of the crowd gathering round the lonely figure in the Via Dolorosa, and to be passing out through the gates of the city with the triumphant song—

The triumph of it, and the humiliation of it engrossed her.

So with her eyes on His face, her feet following His pathway of sorrow, forgetful of all else, she went on with Him to the end.

It was over!

The congregation passed out again under the starlit, moonlit sky, and left the church with the words—

still echoing softly amid the arches of the roof.

It was a very bright and lively party that sat round Mrs. Henchman's supper-table that night. Mrs. Henchman, with Charlie beside her, seemed brightest of all, and yet Denys fancied—was it only fancy?—that when her hostess spoke to her or glanced at her, there was a coldness in her voice and glance that she had not seen before. Audrey divided her attentions between her brother and Cecil Greyburne, with whose appearance at the concert she had been much gratified; but as the meal progressed, Denys began to notice that Audrey did not by any chance speak to her, and kept her eyes studiously in another direction.

A shadow fell over Denys's happiness, but she drove it away with her usual good-tempered large-mindedness. This was the first time that Mrs. Henchman and Audrey had had to realise that Charlie was no longer exclusively their own, and of course they felt that she was the cause! They would be all right to-morrow.

But when Mary came in to clear the supper, Denys began to think that there might be something more than that the matter, for Mary's indignant and lowering look at her suddenly reminded her of that unfortunate moment in the kitchen before she started out to meet Charlie. She grew hot all over. Surely Mary could not have taken serious offence at what she had said!

She had no opportunity to do more than think of the possibility, before she found herself politely but unceremoniously hustled off to bed, and as she and Gertrude left the drawing-room, an unconscious backward glance showed her Mrs. Henchman cosily pulling forward a couple of armchairs to the fireside.

Well! it was natural, of course.

Up in her room she began laying away her hat and jacket and putting out the dress she would need in the morning, when, after a hasty knock, Audrey entered, and carefully closed the door behind her.

"Look here, Denys," she said, a little breathlessly, "I have come up to say that I do think it is too bad of you to go upsetting our servant. When I came home I found mother in an awful state—perfectly awful—and all through your interfering with Mary, and telling her to take care of mother! Of course, Mary did not like it, and poor mother had to bear it all alone. It is a shame."

So Mary had not taken care of Mrs. Henchman, but had gone up and complained of Denys. That much was clear!

It did not help Denys that she could see Gertrude, as she brushed out her long, dark hair, shaking with suppressed laughter, but before she could think of anything to say to defend herself, Audrey had begun again.

"I never thought we should have an interfering daughter-in-law," she said. "You are not Mrs. Henchman yet to give orders to our servant! Mother is awfully annoyed, and as to Charlie——!"

Denys drew herself up a little.

"I think, Audrey," she said coldly, "that quite enough has been said about this. I had not the faintest thought of being interfering. I only spoke to Mary as I should have thought any visitor in my home might speak to our maid, if mother were alone and ill. And I think that it would have been more suitable if your mother or Charlie had spoken to me themselves about it. I will tell them to-morrow how very, very sorry I am your mother has been upset."

"Oh, I hope you will do nothing of the kind," cried Audrey. "Do let her forget it, if possible, poor thing! And as for Charlie, of course, mother does not annoy him with worries the first five minutes he is in the house, and why should he be made angry? as he would be if he knew. Pray let the whole matter drop."

Denys was silent, and Audrey went away, shutting the door noisily.

"Well!" said Gertrude, when her footsteps had died away, "now I may laugh in peace! I don't congratulate you on the tempers of your future relations, Denys." But Denys was too utterly overset to attempt defence or condemnation. Great tears welled up into her eyes and rolled down her cheeks as fast as she wiped them away. She was glad that Gertrude took her side, but she felt that Gertrude's own vagaries had helped not a little, in the avalanche of blame which had fallen upon her head.

She could not go to sleep. She lay in the darkness, her pillow wet with those great tears which she could not seem to stop, her mind going backwards and forwards over it all unceasingly, in a maze of useless regrets and annoyance, until suddenly a melody she had heard that evening seemed to float into her mind.

Ah, there was rest there!

To the rhythm of the soft, soothing melody she fell asleep.