pposing I began to do right, and trusted the rest? I could try to
speak to Philip, and it would be something even if I stopped short and
ran away. Or if I could not drag my feet to him, I could take Aunt
Isobel's advice, and pray. I might not be able to speak civilly to
Philip, or even to pray about him in my present state of mental
confusion, but I could repeat _some_ prayer reverently. Would it not
be better to start on the right road, even if I fell by the way?

I crossed the room in three strides to the place where I usually say
my prayers. I knelt, and folded my hands, and shut my eyes, and began
to recite the Te Deum in my head, trying to attend to it. I did attend
pretty well, but it was mere attention, till I felt slightly softened
at the verse--"Make them to be numbered with Thy saints in glory
everlasting." For my young mother was very good, and I always think
of her when the choir comes to that verse on Sundays.

"Vouchsafe, O Lord, to keep us this day without sin." "It's too late
to ask that," thought I, with that half of my brain which was not
attending to the words of the Te Deum, "and yet there is a little bit
of the day left which will be dedicated either to good or evil."

I prayed the rest, "O Lord, have mercy upon us, have mercy upon us. O
Lord, let Thy mercy lighten upon us, as our trust is in Thee. O Lord,
in Thee have I trusted, let me never be confounded!" and with the last
verse there came from my heart a very passion of desire for strength
to do the will of GOD at the sacrifice of my own. I flung myself on
the floor with inarticulate prayers that were very fully to the point
now, and they summed themselves up again in the old words, "In Thee, O
Lord, have I trusted, let me never be confounded!"

When I raised my head I caught sight of the picture, and for an
instant felt a superstitious thrill. The finely drawn face shone with
a crimson glow. But in a moment more I saw the cause, and
exclaimed--"_The sun is setting_! I must speak to Philip before it
goes down."

What should I say? Somehow, now, my judgment felt very clear and
decisive. I would not pretend that he had been in the right, but I
would acknowledge where I had been in the wrong. I _had_ been
disobliging about Mr. Clinton, and I would say so, and offer to repair
that matter. I would regret having lost my temper, and say nothing
about his. I would not offer to deprive Charles of his part, or break
my promise of the white feather; b