And he got up and went for Faith"s shawl and gloves which were on the table. Mr. Simlins watched the shawling and gloving with attention.
"You can tell Jem he won"t be wanted again, Faith," he said. "I guess you"ll see him at the gate." Mr. Linden smiled, but some other thought was on his mind,--the face that he turned to Mr. Simlins shewed concern that was both grave and kind.
"What can I do for you?" he said.
"This aint the prettiest place in Pattaqua.s.set; but maybe you"ll come and see me sometimes--till I can get out my self," Mr. Simlins said considerately.
"You may be sure I will. And will you let me pray with you now, before I go?"
The farmer hesitated--or was silent--one instant, then with a sort of subdued abruptness said,
"I"m ready!"--
They knelt there in the sunlight; but when the prayer was over Mr.
Simlins felt half puzzled to know for whose sake it had been proposed.
For with the telling of his doubts and hindrances and wants--things which he had told to no one, there mingled so much of the speaker"s own interest,--which could not be content to leave him but in Christ"s hands.
There was not a word spoken after that for a minute,--Mr. Linden stood by the low mantelpiece resting his face on his hand. The farmer, busy with the feelings which the prayer had raised, sat with downcast eyes.
And Faith was motionless with a deep and manifold sense of happiness, the labyrinth of which herself could not soon have threaded out. The silence and stillness of his two companions drew the farmer"s eyes up; he read first, with an eager eye that n.o.body saw, the sweet gravity on one half hidden face, and the deep pure joy written in all the lines of the other; and secret and strong, though half unknown to himself, the whole tide of his heart turned that way. If not before, then at least, something like Ruth"s resolution came up within him;--"thy people shall be my people, and thy G.o.d my G.o.d!" Mr. Linden was the first one that moved.
"Are you ready, dear child?"
The farmer"s eyes were on her too, even while he wrung Mr. Linden"s hand. But he only said before he let it go,--"Give a gla.s.s of wine to her when she gets home."
Out in the sweet afternoon air, and driving through the gate which opened on the highway, with Jem Waters on hand to shut it, Mr. Linden brought Faith"s face round towards him and scanned it earnestly.
"My child, how tired you are! I wish I knew whether it would do you most good to go straight home, or to breathe this air a little longer."
"I hope you won"t conclude to take me home," said Faith. "I have been looking for this all day."
"Do you think you deserve to have it?" said Mr. Linden, turning Jerry"s head however the way that was _not_ straight home. "Why didn"t you sleep, and wait for me to bring you down here?"
"One reason was, Endy, that I half guessed Mr. Simlins wanted to talk to me and that it might be better for him to see one than two.
"I could have left you there for a while."
"No you couldn"t!" she said. "And I couldn"t have driven off Jerry and left you--though that would have been better."
"You could have driven me off. What was the other reason?"
"The other reason isn"t really worth your hearing. Don"t you think this afternoon is too pretty to spoil with bad reasons?"--she said with gentle eyes, half fun, half confession.
"Entirely. Faith--I think you would bear the ride better if you had a sort of afternoon lunch,--shall we stop at Miss Bezac"s for a gla.s.s of milk?"
"Oh no!"--she said hastily. "Oh no, Endecott! I don"t want anything but to ride."
"And to hide--" said Mr. Linden laughingly. "Another bad reason, Faith?"
She gave him a little blushing look, very frank and happy, that also bore homage to his penetration.
"Stop anywhere you please, Endy," she said honestly. "I was very glad you came to Mr. Simlins"."
"Would you rather get it from Mrs. Davids?" he inquired demurely.
"No, not rather. Whichever you like, Endecott," Faith said, hiding the start which the question in this real form gave her. The afternoon sun through which they were riding was very bright; the washed leaves were brilliantly green; sweet scents of trees and buds filled the air, and opening apple blossoms were scattering beauty all over the land.
Nothing could spoil that afternoon. Faith had a secret consciousness besides that the very thing from which she shrank was by no means disagreeable to Mr. Linden. She did not care what he did! And he,--in the joy of being with her, of seeing her grow stronger every hour, Mr.
Linden was in a "holiday humour"--in the mood for work or play or mischief; and took the road to Miss Bezac"s for more than a gla.s.s of milk.
"Mignonette," he said, "what varieties of pride do you consider lawful and becoming?"
"I know only a few innocent sorts," said Faith,--"that I keep for myself."
"Luxurious child! "A few innocent sorts of pride that you keep for yourself"! You must divide with me."
How Faith laughed.
"You wouldn"t thank me for one of them all, Endecott. And yet--" She stopped, and coloured brilliantly on the sudden.
"Explain and finish," said Mr. Linden laconically.
"If I told you what they are you would laugh at me."
"That would not hurt me. What are they, Mignonette?"
She spoke gravely, though smiling sometimes; answering to the matter of fact, as she had been asked. "I am proud, a little, of very fine rolls of b.u.t.ter, or a particularly good cheese. I think I am proud of my carnations, and perhaps--" she went on colouring--"of being so good a baker as I am. And perhaps--I think I am--of such things as sewing and dressmaking;--but I don"t think there is much harm in all that. I know myself sometimes proud of other things, where I know it is wrong."
"How do you know but I am proud of your rolls of b.u.t.ter too?" said Mr.
Linden looking amused. "But Mignonette, what called forth such a display of the carnations you are _not_ proud of? What was the force of that "And yet"?"
It brought the colour again, and Faith hesitated and looked puzzled, Then she tried a new way of escape.
"Don"t you mean to let me have any of my thoughts to myself?" she said playfully.
"Don"t you mean to let me have any of them for myself?"
"You?--Haven"t you them almost all?"
"My dear I beg pardon!--one for every carnation,--but I did not know that I had so nearly made the tour of your mind. I was under the impression that my pa.s.sports were not yet made out--and that my knowledge of your thoughts was all gained from certain predatory excursions, telescopic observations, and such like illegal practices. I am sure all my attempts to cross the frontier in the ordinary way are met by something more impa.s.sable than a file of bayonets."
Faith looked up at him as if to see how much of this was meant for true.
"But," said she naively, "I feel as if I had been under a microscope."
"My dear!" said Mr. Linden again, with an air at once resigned and deprecating. But then his gravity gave way. "Faith!--is _that_ your feeling in my company? I wonder you can endure the sight of me."
"Why?"--said she timidly.
"If I seem to you like a microscope."