long the broad village road, skirted with
straggling houses, to Dr. Peewee's. Heavens! in what year was that? he
thought, unconsciously. Am I a hundred years old? On those mornings he
used to see--Precisely the person he saw at the moment the thought
crossed his mind--Hope Wayne--who bowed to him as he passed her party.
How much calmer, statelier, and more softly superior she was than in
those old Delafield days!

She remembered, too; and as the lithe, graceful figure of the handsome
and fascinating Mr. Abel Newt bent in passing, Arthur Merlin, who felt,
at the instant Abel passed, as if his own feet were very large, and his
clothes ugly, and his movement stupidly awkward--felt, in fact, as if he
looked like a booby--Arthur Merlin observed that his companion went on
speaking, that she did not change color, and that her voice was neither
hurried nor confused.

Why did the young painter, as he observed these little things, feel as if
the sun shone with unusual splendor? Why did he think he had never heard
a bird sing so sweetly as one that hung at an open window they passed?
Nay, why in that moment was he almost willing to paint Abel Newt as the
Endymion of his great picture?

CHAPTER XLV.

IN CHURCH.

They turned into Chambers Street, in which was the little church where
Dr. Channing was to preach. Lawrence Newt led the way up the aisle to
his pew. The congregation, which was usually rather small, to-day quite
filled the church. There was a general air of intelligence and shrewdness
in the faces, which were chiefly of the New England type. Amy Waring
saw no one she had ever seen before. In fact, there were but few present
in whose veins New England blood did not run, except some curious hearers
who had come from a natural desire to see and hear a celebrated man.

When our friends entered the church a slow, solemn voluntary was playing
upon the organ. The congregation sat quietly in the pews. Chairs and
benches were brought to accommodate the increasing throng. Presently the
house was full. The bustle and distraction of entering were over--there
was nothing heard but the organ.

In a few moments a slight man, wrapped in a black silk gown, slowly
ascended the pulpit stairs, and, before seating himself, stood for a
moment looking down at the congregation. His face was small, and thin,
and pale; but there was a pure light, an earnest, spiritual sweetness
in the eyes--the irradiation of an anxious soul--as the