"My dear child! I am very glad!" he said, taking her hand.
"Wonderful?--yes, it is wonderful to read, to one who wants it."
"She wanted it so much,"--Faith said, catching her breath a little.
"And understood it, Mr. Linden. Very soon it was all--or mostly--clear to her. I read to her sometimes till twelve o"clock at night--and sometimes began at four in the morning."
Mr. Linden looked at her with a mingling of expressions.
"I am afraid that was not good for you,--if one dare say it of any work done in that service. Do you know how much the Bible is like that pillar of fire which guided the Israelites, but to those who were not of Israel became a pillar of cloud,--from which "the Lord looked out"
but "to trouble them"?"
Faith"s eye watched him as he spoke, and caught the power and beauty of the ill.u.s.tration; but she did not speak. Until after thinking and musing a while she said softly, "It don"t trouble aunt Dilly."
Mr. Linden drew up a chair for her near his own, but made no other comment upon her or her musings at first,--then abruptly--"And you think she will want you again?"
"There is n.o.body else to do this for her," said Faith; and again was silent. "How do you suppose it all began with aunt Dilly, Mr. Linden?"
"As to means?--I cannot tell."
"It began from a few words, which I dare say you have forgotten, but which she and I remember,--words that you said one evening when she was here last summer, about everybody"s being precious in one sense.--You repeated that pa.s.sage--"They shall be mine, saith the Lord,"--you know."
Faith did not know what a soft illumination was in her eyes, or she would probably not have turned the light of it so full upon Mr. Linden as at one or two points of her speech she did. It was a grave, sweet look that answered her; but then his eyes went off to the fire without further reply.
Faith did not again interrupt the silence; a silence that to judge by the faces of both was pleasant to both. Till Mrs. Derrick came in, who indeed could not be very long absent. Then Faith left her place, sat down on a low seat by her mother and caressingly took possession of her hands and arms. She made no more startling propositions that night of going back to Pequot again; and the minutes of the evening flowed on--as such minutes do.
The Sunday which followed was one as quietly happy as is often known in this world. And the next day was Christmas.
END OF VOL. I.