With variety of phrasing, she poured out this prayer all through the hours of the night; she spread the matter before the Lord as Hezekiah did the letter that troubled him.  Something must be done.  She forgot all the commands to wait, to sit still and see the salvation of the Lord; she forgot, or put away from her, the description of one who believeth:  “He that believeth shall not make haste.”  And she was making haste with all her might.

In the earliest dawn she arose, feeling assured that the Lord had heard her cry and had answered her; he had given her permission to speak to Hollis.

That he permitted her to speak to Hollis, I know; that it was his will, I do not know; but she was assured that she knew, and she never changed her mind.  It may be that it was his will for her to make a mistake and bring sorrow upon Marjorie; the Lord does not shrink from mistakes; he knows what to do with them.

Before the house was astir, Hollis found her in the kitchen; she had kindled the fire, and was filling the tea-kettle at the pump in the sink.

“Good morning, Mrs. West.  Excuse my early leave; but I must meet my friends to-day.”

“Hollis!”

She set the tea-kettle on the stove, and turned and looked at him.  The solemn weight of her eye rooted him to the spot.

“Hollis, I’ve known you ever since you were born.”

“And now you are going to find fault with me!” he returned, with an easy laugh.

“No, not to find fault, but to speak with great plainness.  Do you see how changed Marjorie is!”

“Yes.  I could not fail to notice it.  Has she been ill?”

“Yes, very ill.  You see the effect of something.”

“But she is better.  She was so bright last night.”

“Yes, last night,” she returned impressively, setting the lid of the tea-kettle firmly in its place.  “Did you ever think that you did wrong in writing to her so many years and then stopping short all of a sudden, giving her no reason at all?”

“Do you mean that has changed her, and hurt her?” he asked, in extreme surprise.

“I do.  I mean that.  I mean that you gained her affections and then left her,” she returned with severity.

Hollis was now trembling in every limb, strong man as he was; he caught at the back of a chair, and leaned on his two hands as he stood behind it gazing into her face with mute lips.

“And now, what do you intend to do?”

“I never did that!  It was not in my heart to do that!  I would scorn to do it!” he declared with vehemence.

“Then what did you do?” she asked quietly.

“We were good friends.  We liked to write to each other.  I left off writing because I thought it not fair to interfere with Morris.”

“Morris!  What did he have to do with it?”

“She wears his ring,” he said in a reasoning voice.

“She wears it as she would wear it if a brother had given it to her.  They were brother and sister.”