her various fancies during their married
life. Some of them were no more remarkable or unexpected than this
interest in Shakerism. He began to be slowly frightened. Suppose she
should take it into her head--?

When her fortnight was nearly up and he was already deciding whether,
when he drove over to Depot Corners to meet her, he would take Ginny's
colt or the new mare, a letter came to say she was going to stay a week
longer.

"I believe," she wrote--her very pen, in the frantic down-hill slope of
her lines, betraying the excitement of her thoughts--"I believe that for
the first time in my life I have found my God!" The letter was full
of dashes and underlining, and on the last page there was a blistered
splash into which the ink had run a little on the edges.

Lewis Hall's heart contracted with an almost physical pang. "I must go
and get her right off," he said; "this thing is serious!" And yet, after
a wakeful night, he decided, with the extraordinary respect for her
individuality so characteristic of the man--a respect that may be called
foolish or divine, as you happen to look at it--he decided not to go.
If he dragged her away from the Shakers against her will, what would be
gained? "I must give her her head, and let her see for herself that it's
all moonshine," he told himself, painfully, over and over; "my seeing
it won't accomplish anything." But he counted the hours until she would
come home.

When she came, as soon as he saw her walking along the platform looking
for him while he stood with his hand on Ginny's colt's bridle, even
before she had spoken a single word, even then he knew what had
happened--the uplifted radiance of her face announced it.

But she did not tell him at once. On the drive home, in the dark
December afternoon, he was tense with apprehension; once or twice he
ventured some questions about the Shakers, but she put them aside with a
curious gentleness, her voice a little distant and monotonous; her words
seemed to come only from the surface of her mind. When he lifted her out
of the sleigh at their own door he felt a subtle resistance in her whole
body; and when, in the hall, he put his arms about her and tried to kiss
her, she drew back sharply and said:

"No!--PLEASE!" Then, as they stood there in the chilly entry, she burst
into a passionate explanation: she had been convicted and converted! She
had found her Saviour! She--

"There, there, little Tay," he broke in, sadly; "supp