Linnet kept the tears back bravely for Will’s sake; but she clung to him sobbing at the last, and he wept with her; he had never wept on leaving her before; but this time it was so hard, so hard.

“Will, how can I let you go?”

“Keep up, sweetheart.  It isn’t a long trip—­I’ll soon be home.  Let us have a prayer together before I go.”

It was a simple prayer, interrupted by Linnet’s sobbing.  He asked only that God would keep his wife safe, and bring him home safe to her, for Jesus’ sake.  And then his father’s voice was shouting, and he was gone; and Linnet threw herself across the foot of the bed, sobbing like a little child, with quick short breaths, and hopeless tears.

“It isn’t right” she cried vehemently; “and Will oughtn’t to have gone; but he never will withstand his father.”

All day she lived on the hope that something might happen to bring him back at night; but before sundown Captain Rheid drove triumphantly into his own yard, shouting out to his wife in the kitchen doorway that the Linnet was well on her way.

At dusk, Linnet’s lonely time, Marjorie stepped softly through the entry and stood beside her.

“O, Marjorie!  I’m so glad,” she exclaimed, between laughing and crying.  “I’ve had a miserable day.”

“Didn’t you know I would come?”

“How bright you look!” said Linnet, looking up into the changed face; for Marjorie’s trouble was all gone, there was a happy tremor about the lips, and peace was shining in her eyes.

“I am bright.”

“What has happened to you?”

“I can tell you about it now.  I have been troubled—­more than troubled, almost in despair—­because I could not feel that I was a Christian.  I thought I was all the more wicked because I professed to be one.  And to-day it is all gone—­the trouble.  And in such a simple way.  As I was coming out of Sunday school I overheard somebody say to Mrs. Rich, ’I know I’m not a Christian.’  ‘Then,’ said Mrs. Rich, ’I’d begin this very hour to be one, if I were you.’  And it flashed over me why need I bemoan myself any longer; why not begin this very hour; and I did.”

“I’m very glad,” said Linnet, in her simple, hearty way.  “I never had anything like that on my mind, and I know it must be dreadful.”

“Dreadful?” repeated Marjorie.  “It is being lost away from Christ.”

“Mrs. Rheid told Hollis that you were going into a decline, that mother said so, and Will and I were planning what we could do for you.”

“Nobody need plan now,” smiled Marjorie.  “Shall we have some music?  We’ll sing Will’s hymns.”

“How your voice sounds!”

“That’s why I want to sing.  I want to pour it all out.”

The next evening Hollis accompanied Linnet on her way to Marjorie’s to spend the evening.  Marjorie’s pale face and mourning dress had touched him deeply.  He had taught a class of boys near her class in Sunday school, and had been struck with the dull, mechanical tone in which she had questioned the attentive little girls who crowded around her.