wine and a piece
of cake, to reprove her again for absence from church. But she was so
meek that he found it hard to inflict those "faithful wounds" which
should prove his friendship for her soul; she sat before him on the
slippery horsehair sofa in the parlor, her hands locked tightly
together in her lap, her eyes downcast, her voice very low and
trembling. She admitted her backslidings: she acknowledged her errors;
but as for coming to church--she shook her head:

"Please, I won't come to church yet."

"You mean you will come, sometime?"

"Yes; sometime."

"Behold, NOW is the accepted time!"

"I will come... afterwards."

"After what?" he insisted.

"After--" she said, and paused. Then suddenly lifted bold, guileless
eyes: "After you stop caring for my soul."

John Fenn caught his breath. Something, he did not know what, seemed
to jar him rudely from that pure desire for her salvation; he said,
stumblingly, that he would ALWAYS care for her soul!--"for--for any
one's soul." And was she quite well? His voice broke with tenderness.
She must be careful to avoid the chill of these autumnal afternoons;
"you are pale," he said, passionately--"don't--oh, don't be so pale!"
It occurred to him that if she waited for him "not to care" for her
salvation, she might die in her sins; die before coming to the gate of
heaven, which he was so anxious to open to her!

Philippa did not see his agitation; she was not looking at him. She
only said, softly, "Perhaps you will stay to tea?"

He answered quickly that he would be pleased to do so. In the
simplicity of his saintly egotism it occurred to him that the religious
pleasure of entertaining him might be a means of grace to her. When
she left him in the dusk of the chilly room to go and see to the
supper, he fell into silent prayer for the soul that did not desire his
care.

Henry Roberts, summoned by his daughter to entertain the guest until
supper was ready, found him sitting in the darkness of the parlor; the
old man was full of hospitable apologies for his Philippa's
forgetfulness; "she did not remember the lamp!" he lamented; and making
his way through the twilight of the room, he took off the prism-hung
shade of the tall astral lamp on the center-table, and fumbled for a
match to light the charred and sticky wick; there were very few
occasions in this plain household when it was worth while to light the
best lamp! This was one of them, for in those days the