When at the close all arose Mrs. Stillwater was gone from her seat.  Mr. Rockharrt looked around him and then stared at Cora, who very slightly shook her head, as if to say: 

“No; I know no more about it than you.”

How swiftly and silently Rose Stillwater had left the pew and slipped out of the church while all the congregation were bowed in prayer!

Old Aaron Rockharrt looked puzzled and troubled, but the minister was pronouncing the general absolution that followed the general confession, and such a severe martinet and disciplinarian as old Aaron Rockharrt would on no account fail in attention to the speaker.

Nor did he change countenance again during the long morning service.

At its close he drew Cora’s arm within his own and led her out of the church.

As they walked down Broadway he inquired: 

“Why did Mrs. Stillwater leave the church?”

“I do not know,” answered his granddaughter.

“Was she ill?”

“I really do not know.”

“When did she go?”

“I do not know that either, except that she must have slipped out while we were at prayers.”

“You seem to be a perfect know-nothing, Cora.”

“On this subject I certainly am.  I did not perceive Mrs. Stillwater’s absence until we rose from our knees.”

“Well, we shall find her at the hotel, I suppose, and then we shall know all about it.”

By this time they had reached the Blank House.

They entered and went up into their parlor.

Rose was not there.

“Bless my soul, I hope the poor child is not ill.  Go, Cora, and see if she is in her room, and find out what is the matter with her,” said old Aaron Rockharrt, as he dropped wearily into the big arm chair.

Cora had just come from church, from hearing an eloquent sermon on
Christian charity, so she was in one of her very best moods.

She went at once into the bedroom occupied jointly by herself and her traveling companion.  She found Rose in a wrapper, with her hair down, lying on the outside of her bed.

“Are you not well?” she inquired in a gentle tone.

“No, dear; I have a very severe neuralgic headache.  It takes all my strength of mind and nerve to keep me from screaming under the pain,” answered Rose, in a faint and faltering voice.

“I am very sorry.”

“It struck me—­in the church—­with the suddenness of a bullet—­shot through my brain.”

“Indeed, I am very, very sorry.  You should have told me.  I would have come out with you.”

“No, dear.  I did not—­wish to disturb—­anybody.  I slipped out noiselessly—­while all were kneeling.  No one heard me—­no one saw me except the sexton—­who opened—­the swing doors—­silently to let me pass.”

“You should not have attempted to walk home alone in such a condition.  It was not safe.  But I am talking to you, when I should be aiding you,” said Cora; and she went to her dressing case and took from it a certain family specific for neuralgic headaches which had been in great favor with her grandmother.  This she poured into a glass, added a little water, and brought to the sufferer.