t of his accidental presence, she
had, of late, almost invariably taken this time for coming over to see
Aunt Faith. A secret womanly instinct, only, it was; waked into no
consciousness, and but ignorantly aware of its own prompting.

To-day, however, Mr. Armstrong had not gone out. Some writing that he
was tempted to do, contrary to his usual Monday habit, had detained him
within. And so, just as Miss Henderson, having given the history of her
slip, and the untoward wrenching of her foot, and its present condition,
to Faith's inquiries, asked her suddenly, "if they hadn't had some city
visitors yesterday, and what sent them flacketting over from Lakeside to
church in the village?" the minister walked in. If he hadn't heard, she
might not have done it; but, with the abrupt question, came, as
abruptly, the hot memory of yesterday; and with those other eyes, beside
the doubled keenness of Aunt Faith's over her spectacles, upon her, it
was so much worse if she should, that of course she couldn't help doing
it! She colored up, and up, till the very roots of her soft hair
tingled, and a quick shame wrapped her as in a flaming garment.

The minister saw, and read. Not quite the obvious inference Faith might
fear--he had a somewhat profounder knowledge of nature than that--but
what persuaded him there was a thought, at least, between the two who
met yesterday, more than of a mere chance greeting; it might not lie so
much with Faith as with the other; yet it had the power--even the
consciousness of its unspoken being, to send the crimson to her face.
What kept the crimson there and deepened it, he knew quite well. He knew
the shame was at having blushed at all.

Nevertheless, Mr. Armstrong remembered that blush, and pondered it,
almost as long as Faith herself. In the little time that he had felt
himself her friend, he had grown to recognize so fully, and to prize so
dearly, her truth, her purity, her high-mindedness, her reverence, that
no new influence could show itself in her life, without touching his
solicitous love. Was this young man worthy of a blush from Faith? Was
there a height in his nature answering to the reach of hers? Was the
quick, impulsive pain that came to him in the thought of how much that
rose hue of forehead and cheek might mean, an intuition of his stronger
and more instructed soul of a danger to the child that she might not
dream? Be it as it might, Roger Armstrong pondered. He would also
watch.