They were among the earliest arrivals at the house, and had a wide space to themselves.  Indeed, they could have been scarcely more secluded at their own summer residence.  For those seeking rest, an early flight to summer resorts brings a rich reward.

While her relatives dozed or merely revived sufficiently from time to time to make some desultory remark, Madge thought deeply.  At first she had been disappointed at the postponement of Graydon’s return, but she grew reconciled as she dwelt upon it.  While hope was deferred, she enjoyed a longer lease of anticipation.  When he did come she might soon learn that all hope was vain.  Besides, the delay gave her time to familiarize herself with the region and its most beautiful walks and drives.  The mountains, woods, and rocks should all be pressed into her service.  They would not reveal her secret, and they might engender thoughts and words with which Miss Wildmere would be out of harmony.

“I’ve been thinking,” Mr. Muir at last remarked.

“Nonsense! you’ve been asleep,” Madge replied.

“No; I’ve thought profoundly.”

“Not even a penny for any thoughts of yours since supper.”

“They would be worth fortunes, life, health, happiness, to half the world.”

“Then keep still till you have a patent, copyright, or something,” said his wife.

“No.  I rise simply to remark—­also to retire—­that a little oil keeps machinery from wearing out and going to pieces.  Come now, old lady” (pulling his wife to her feet), “you are the better to-night, as I am, for the oil that Madge has slipped in here and there.  I fear the machinery to-day would have run badly without it.”

The group that gathered at the breakfast-table next morning bore early testimony to the tonic of the hills.  Jack only was not so well, and Mrs. Muir remained with him, while Madge and Mr. Muir wended their way to a little chapel whose spire was the only summons to worship.  A short, genial, middle-aged man met them at the door, with such hospitable cordiality as to suggest that he was receiving friends at his own home, and conducted them to seats.  A venerable clergyman sat in the pulpit with a face full of quiet benignity.  Every one who came appeared to receive an almost personal welcome; and Madge and Mr. Muir looked enviously at the self-appointed usher.  It was as evident that he was not a professional sexton as that the little congregation could not afford such a luxury.  No care clouded his brow.  Evidently his future did not depend on fluctuations in the maelstrom of commerce, nor had he one hope so predominant over all others that his life was one of masked suspense, as was the case with poor Madge.  He was rather like the rugged, sun-lighted mountains near, solid, stable, simple.  No matter what happened, he would remain and appear much the same.

Such was the tenor of Madge’s thoughts as she waited for the opening of service.  Fanciful and imaginative to a great degree, she found a certain mental enjoyment in observing the impressions made upon her by strangers.