The next words gave the whole description, the whole key of entrance.
"Whosoever shall confess that Jesus is the Son of G.o.d, G.o.d dwelleth in him and he in G.o.d. And we have known and believed the love that G.o.d hath to us. G.o.d is love; and he that dwelleth in love dwelleth in G.o.d, and G.o.d in him."
Here was the "Sanctuary" on earth,--the foreshewing image of the one on high.
"I saw no temple therein: for the Lord G.o.d Almighty and the Lamb are the temple of it."
How far Faith had got from the earthly Thanksgiving day--even to that finished and everlasting one on high! She had of course read and studied these pa.s.sages all before--once; and then she had shut them up as a particular casket of treasures that she would not grow too familiar with suddenly, but would keep to enjoy their brightness another time. Something this Thanksgiving morning had made Faith want them. She now sat looking at the last words, feeling as if she wanted nothing.
The wind and the rain still raged without, drowning and merging any sounds there might be in the road, though truly few animate things were abroad at that hour in that weather. Mr. Skip had roused himself, indeed, for his day"s pleasure, and after lighting the kitchen fire had gone forth--leaving it to take care of itself; but when the door closed after him, Faith and her fire looked at each other in the same stillness as before. Until she heard the front door open and shut,--that was the first sound, and the last,--no unwonted one, either; that door opened and shut twenty times a day. What intangible, well-recognized modification in its motions now, made Faith"s heart bound and sink with sudden belief--with swift denial? Who was it? at that hour! Faith sprang to the parlour door, she did not know how, and was in the dark hall. A little gleam of firelight followed her--a little faint dawn came through the fanlight of the door: just enough to reveal to Faith those very outlines which at first sight she had p.r.o.nounced "pleasant." One more spring Faith made; with no scream of delight, but with a low exclamation, very low, that for its many-folded sweetness was like the involutions of a rosebud.
"Faith!" he exclaimed. "Don"t touch me till I get out of the rain!"--which prohibition Faith might consider useless, or might think that--shuttlec.o.c.k fashion--it had got turned round in the air.
"The best place to get out of the rain is in here," she said trying to draw him along with her. "Oh Endy! how came you in it?"
"If you say three words to me, I shall give you the benefit of all the remaining raindrops," said Mr. Linden, disengaging himself to throw off his overcoat,--"how can one do anything, with you standing there? How came I in it?--I came in it! Precious child! how do you do?" And she was taken possession of, and carried off into the next room, like a rosebud as she was, to have the same question put a great many times in a different way. More words for her, just then, Mr. Linden did not seem to have. Nor Faith for him. She stood very still, her face in a glow of shy joy, but her eyes and even her lips grave and quiet; except when sometimes a very tiny indicatory smile broke half way upon them.
"When did you come?"
"I came in the night train. Mignonette--are you glad to see me?"
The smile shewed her teeth a little. They would bear shewing, but this was only a glimmer of the white enamel.
"Then you have been travelling all night?"
"Yes. How are you going to prove your position?"
"What position, Endy?"
"That you are glad to see me."
"I don"t know,"--she said looking up at him.
"You cannot think of any proof to give me?"
"I can think of a great many."
"I am ready to take them!" said Mr. Linden demurely.
"Then if you will sit down and let me leave you for a few minutes, I will see what I can do."
"Thank you--the proofs that I mean would by no means take you further off. Suppose you see what you can do without going away."
She laid her head down for a minute, colouring too, even the cheek that was high-coloured before; but she looked up again.
"Stoop your high head, then, Endy!"--she said;--and she gave him two kisses, as full and earnest as they were soft. There was no doubt Faith had proved her position!
"Faith, darling," he said, "have you been growing thin?--or is it only that I have had to do with such substantial humanity of late. Look up here and let me see--are you anything but the essence of Mignonette?"
The face she shewed was aptly named; about as pure as that. With grave, loving intentness--not the less grave for its little companion smile--Mr. Linden studied her face for a minute,--pushing back her hair.
"Do you think,"--she said then in a light soft tone--a departure from the last words,--"do you think you won"t want the essence of something else by and by, Endecott?"
"No,"--decidedly,--"I want nothing but you--so you may as well make up your mind to want nothing but me."
"Do you know what that would end in?"
"Not necessarily in such a simple duet," said Mr. Linden smiling,--"people do not always realize their ideal. Mignonette, you are just as lovely as you can be!--and you need not bring Miss Reason to keep me in order. I suppose if _she_ were in the house it would end in her wanting her breakfast."
"I don"t like Miss Keason," said Faith, "and the only thing I am thinking of putting in order is the kitchen fire. Would you like to go there with me? n.o.body"s in the house--Cindy went yesterday to a wedding, and Mr. Skip is gone home to keep Thanksgiving."
"That is the best thing I ever heard of Cindy," said Mr. Linden. "Of course I will go!--and play Ferdinand again Faith, would the doctor call me an "acid"--come to dissolve all his crystals?"
"Dr. Harrison gave me ten dollars yesterday for the poor people," said Faith as she led the way to the kitchen. Arrived there, she placed a chair for Mr. Linden and requested him to be seated; while she examined into the state of the fire. The chair was disregarded--the fire received double attention.
"Faith," he said laughingly, "I bear the curb about as well as Stranger. I have a great mind to tell you how that eagle stands in the doctor"s memorandum book!"
Faith dropped her hands for the moment and looked at him, with grave eyes of wide-open attention. The look changed Mr. Linden"s purpose,--he could not bear to take away all the pleasure the eagle had brought on his gold wings.
"I don"t believe there is such a book in existence," he said lightly.
"Miranda, what would you like to have me do for you now?--the fire is ready for anything."
"I haven"t anything ready for it yet," said Faith, "but I will have--if you"ll wait a bit."--She left him there, and ran off--coming back in a little while. And then Mr. Linden was initiated, if he never was before, in kitchen mysteries. Faith covered herself with a great ap.r.o.n, rolled up her sleeves above the elbows, and with funny little glances at him between whiles, went round the room about various pieces of work. Almost noiselessly, with the utmost nicety of quick and clean work, she was busy in one thing after another and in two or three at the same time; while Mr. Linden stood or sat by the fire looking on.
Two things he comprehended; the potatoes which were put over the fire to boil and the white shortcakes which finally stood cut out on the board ready for baking. The preliminary flour and cream and mixing in the bowl had been (culinary) Sanscrit to him. He had watched her somewhat silently of late, but none the less intently: indeed in all his watching there had been a silent thread woven in with its laughing and busy talk,--his eyes had followed her as one follows a veritable sunbeam, noting the bright gleams of colour here, and the soft light there, and thinking of the time when it must quit the room.
"Faith," he said as she cut out her cakes, "are these what you made for me the first night I came here?"
"I believe so!"
"What do you suppose you look like--going about the kitchen in this style?--you make me think irresistibly of something."
"I should like to know," said Faith with an amused laugh.
"I shall make you blush, if I tell you," said Mr. Linden.
That was enough to do it! Faith gave him one look, and went on with her shortcakes.
"You don"t care about knowing, after all?" said Mr. Linden.
"Well,--Faith, do you expect ever to make such things in my house?--because if you do, I think it will ensure my coming down stairs before breakfast."
How she flushed--over cheek and brow,--then remarked gravely that, "she was glad he liked it."
"Yes, and you have no idea what effects my liking will produce!" said Mr. Linden. "You see, Faith, it may happen to us now and then to be left without other hands than our own in the house (there is no reliance whatever to be placed upon cottages!) and then you will come down, as now, and I shall come too--taking the precaution to bring a book, that n.o.body may suspect what I come for. Then enter one of my parishioners--Faith, are you attending?"
Faith had stopped, and poising her rolling pin the reverse way on the board--that is, on end,--had leaned her arms upon it,--giving up shortcakes entirely for the time being.