sit down to his books, so profoundly absorbed in them that sometimes he
only knew that it was time to sleep because the dawn fell white across
the black-lettered page.

But one night, a week later, when he came home from work, he did not
open his Bible; he stood a long time in his doorway, looking at the
sunset, and, as he looked, his face seemed to shine with some inner
light. The lake was like glass; high in the upper heavens thin golden
lines of cloud had turned to rippling copper; the sky behind the black
circle of the hills was a clear, pale green, and in the growing dusk the
water whitened like snow. "'Glass mingled with fire,'" he murmured to
himself; "yes, 'great and marvellous are Thy works, Lord God Almighty;
just and true are Thy ways, Thou King of Saints!'" And what more
marvellous work than this wonder of his own salvation? Brought here
against his will, against his judgment! How he had struggled against the
Spirit. He was humbled to the earth at the remembrance of it; "if I
had my way, we wouldn't have walked up the hill from the station that
morning!"...

The flushing heavens faded into ashes, but the solemn glow of
half-astonished gratitude lingered on his face.

"Lewis," some one said in the darkness of the lane--"LEWIS!" Athalia
came up the path swiftly and put her hands on his arm. "Lewis, I--I want
to go home." She sobbed as she spoke.

He started as if she had struck him.

"Lewis, Lewis, let us go home!"

The flame of mystical satisfaction went out of his face as a lighted
candle goes out in the wind.

"There isn't any home now, Athalia," he said, with a sombre look;
"there's only a house. Come in," he added, heavily; "we must talk this
out."

She followed him, and for a moment they neither of them spoke; he
fumbled about in the warm darkness for a match, and lifting the shade,
lighted the lamp on the table; then he looked at her. "Athalia," he
said, in a terrified voice, "I am--_I am a Shaker!_"

"No--no--no!" she said. She grew very white, and sat down, breathing
quickly. Then the color came back faintly into her lips. "Don't say it,
Lewis; it isn't true. It can't be true!"

"It is true," he said, with a groan. He had sunk into a chair, and
his face was hidden in his hands. "What are we going to do?" he said,
hoarsely.

"Why, you mustn't be!" she cried; "you can't be--that's all. You can't
STAY if I go!"

"I must stay," he said.

There was a stunned silence. Then she said, in a