over and speakin' to the other Deacons about it. I'll kinder
find out what they feel."

"Yes," she replied mechanically, almost as if she had not heard.
"Yes, that's all right." And she slowly straightened the cloth on the
centre-table, given over again to her reflections.

Mr. Letgood walked home, ate his supper, went to bed and slept that
night as only a man does whose nervous system has been exhausted by
various and intense emotions. He even said his prayers by rote. And
like a child he slept with tightly-clenched fists, for in him, as in the
child, the body's claims were predominant.

When he awoke next morning, the sun was shining in at his bedroom
window, and at once his thoughts went back to the scenes and emotions
of the day before. An unusual liveliness of memory enabled him to review
the very words which Mrs. Hooper had used. He found nothing to regret.
He had certainly gained ground by telling her of the call. The torpor
which had come upon him the previous evening formed a complete contrast
to the blithesome vigour he now enjoyed. He seemed to himself to be a
different man, recreated, as it were, and endowed with fresh springs of
life. While he lay in the delightful relaxation and warmth of the bed,
and looked at the stream of sunshine which flowed across the room, he
became confident that all would go right.

"Yes," he decided, "she cares for me, or she would never have wished me
to stay. Even the Deacon helped me--" The irony of the fact shocked him.
He would not think of it. He might get a letter from her by two o'clock.
With pleasure thrilling through every nerve, he imagined how she would
word her confession. For she had yielded to him; he had felt her body
move towards him and had seen the surrender in her eyes. While musing
thus, passion began to stir in him, and with passion impatience.

"Only half-past six o'clock," he said to himself, pushing his watch
again under the pillow; "eight hours to wait till mail time. Eight
endless hours. What a plague!"

His own irritation annoyed him, and he willingly took up again the
thread of his amorous reverie: "What a radiant face she has, what fine
nervefulness in the slim fingers, what softness in the full throat!"
Certain incidents in his youth before he had studied for the ministry
came back to him, bringing the blood to his cheeks and making his
temples throb. As the recollections grew vivid they became a torment. To
regain quiet pulses he forced his m