Reluctantly she consented, and for the first time Duty and Love seemed to signal a truce, to shake hands over the preliminaries of a treaty for peace.

As she passed through the churchyard and walked up the steps, where a group of Sabbath-school children sat talking, her eyes involuntarily sought the dull brown spot on the marble.

Over it little Herbert Inge had spread his white handkerchief, and piled thereon his Testament and catechism, laying on the last one of those gilt-bordered and handsome pictorial cards, containing a verse from the Scriptures, which are frequently distributed by Sabbath-school teachers.

Edna stooped and looked at the picture covering the blood-stain.  It represented our Saviour on the Mount, delivering the sermon, and in golden letters were printed his words: 

“Judge not, that ye be not judged.  For with what judgment ye judge, ye shall be judged; and with what measure ye mete, it shall be measured to you again.”

The eyes of the Divine Preacher seemed to look into hers, and the outstretched hand to point directly at her.

She trembled, and hastily kissing the sweet red lips which little Herbert held up to her, she went in, and up to the gallery.

The congregation assembled slowly, and as almost all the faces were familiar to Edna, each arrival revived something of the past.  Here the flashing silk flounces of a young belle brushed the straight black folds of widow’s weeds; on the back of one seat was stretched the rough brown hand of a poor laboring man; on the next lay the dainty fingers of a matron of wealth and fashion, who had entirely forgotten to draw a glove over her sparkling diamonds.

In all the splendor of velvet, feathers, and sea-green moire, Mrs. Montgomery sailed proudly into her pew, convoying her daughter Maud, who was smiling and whispering to her escort; and just behind them came a plainly-clad but happy young mechanic, a carpenter, clasping to his warm, honest heart the arm of his sweet-faced, gentle wife, and holding the hand of his rosy-cheeked, bright-eyed, three-year old boy, who toddled along, staring at the brilliant pictures on the windows.

When Mr. Leigh and Gertrude entered there was a general stir, a lifting of heads and twisting of necks, in order to ascertain what new styles of bonnet, lace, and mantle prevailed in Paris.

A moment after Mrs. Murray walked slowly down the aisle, and Edna’s heart seemed to stand still as she saw Mr. Murray’s powerful form.  He stepped forward, and while he opened the door of the pew, and waited for his mother to seat herself, his face was visible; then he sat down, closing the door.

The minister entered, and, as he ascended the pulpit, the organ began to breathe its solemn welcome.  When the choir rose and commenced their chorus, Edna stood silent, with her book in her hand, and her eyes fixed on the Murrays’ pew.

The strains of triumph ceased, the organ only sobbed its sympathy to the thorn-crowned Christ, struggling along the Via Dolorosa, and the orphan’s quivering lips parted, and she sang her solo.