"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.
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