this tumult of feeling meant. She longed to get
away and think it over, but the solemn Sunday must be observed. She must
fold away her church things, put on another frock and come down to the
oppressive Sunday dinner, hear Deacon Brown's rheumatism discussed, or
listen to a long comparison of the morning's sermon with one preached
twenty years ago by the minister, now long dead upon the same text. It was
all very hard to keep her mind upon, with these other thoughts rushing
pell-mell through her brain; and when Aunt Amelia asked her to pass the
butter, she handed the sugar-bowl instead. Miss Amelia looked as shocked
as if she had broken the great-grandmother's china teapot.

Aunt Clarinda claimed her after dinner and carried her off to her room to
talk about David, so that Marcia had no chance to think even then. Miss
Clarinda looked into the sweet shadowed eyes and wondered why the girl
looked so sad. She thought it was because David stayed away so long, and
so she kept her with her all the rest of the day.

When Marcia went to her room that night she threw herself on her knees
beside the bed and tried to pray. She felt more lonely and heartsick than
she ever felt before in her life. She did not know what the great hunger
in her heart meant. It was terrible to think David had loved Kate. Kate
never loved him in return in the right way. Marcia felt very sure of that.
She wished she might have had the chance in Kate's place, and then all of
a sudden the revelation came to her. She loved David herself with a great
overwhelming love. Not just a love that could come and keep house for him
and save him from the criticisms and comments of others; but with a love
that demanded to be loved in return; a love that was mindful of every dear
lineament of his countenance. The knowledge thrilled through her with a
great sweetness. She did not seem to care for anything else just now, only
to know that she loved David. David could never love her of course, not in
that way, but she would love him. She would try to shut out the thought of
Kate from him forever.

And so, dreaming, hovering on the edge of all that was bitter and all that
was sweet, she fell asleep with David's letter clasped close over her
heart.

CHAPTER XXIII

Marcia had gone down to her own house the next morning very early. She had
hoped for a letter but none had come. Her soul was in torment between her
attempt to keep out