you to lie down this afternoon."

"Oh, but I didn't," she said quickly. "I was busy thinking."

He looked at her eagerly. "Yes," she continued, "I think I know what has
distressed you so these last few days, dear. It is this thought of the
suffering of mankind. If you have felt that all the heathen who have died
are in hell, I don't wonder at your sorrow. It would be dreadful, and I
wish you did not think it. But we will not talk about it,--of course you
would rather not talk about it, even to me, but I understand."

She bent forward, and smiled brightly, as she looked at him. But his face
was full of grief.

"It was not that, Helen," he said; "it was something nearer than that.
It was remorse, because of late, for nearly a year, I have neglected my
people. I have not admonished them and warned them as I ought. And nearer
still, because I have neglected you."

"Me!" she cried, too much astonished to say more.

"Yes," he answered, his head bent again upon his breast, "you, my
dearest, my best beloved,--you, who are dearer than my life to me, dearer
than my happiness. I have known that you have been far from truth, that
you have not believed, and yet I--I have been silent."

Helen looked at him, and the sudden awful thought flashed into her mind
that he did not know what he was saying, and then she said with a gasp:
"Oh, John, is that all? Have you been so unhappy just because of that?
Oh, you poor fellow!"

She brought her horse close beside his, and laid her hand on his arm.
"Dear, what does it matter what I believe or do not believe? We love each
other. And where is your tolerance, John?" She laughed, but the look of
terrible concern in his face frightened her.

"Ah, Helen," he said, "such tolerance as you would have me show would be
indifference."

"Oh, John!" she said, and then began resolutely to speak of other things.

But soon they fell into silence, Helen longing to get home and brush this
useless and foolish anxiety from her husband's heart, and he agonizing
for his sin towards her and towards his people.

The late afternoon sunshine gilded the tender green of the fields, and
slanting deep into the darkness of the woods, touched the rough trunks of
the trees with gold. Long shadows stretched across the road, and the
fragrance which steals out with the evening dews began to come from
unseen blossoms, and early clover; and a breath of the uncertain night
wind brought hints of apple orchards or the pu