West Woodlands, and she (Cissy) would yet
be proud of one of her "fammerly being speshally selected for grace."
But the "workin's o' salvation was not to be finicked away on worldly
things or even the affections of the flesh;" and if Cissy really loved
her aunt, "she wouldn't interfere with her while she was, so to speak,
still on the mourners' bench, wrastlin' with the Sperret in their back
sittin'-room." But she might wait until Brother Seabright's return from
evening chapel after service.

Cissy waited. Nine o'clock came, but Brother Seabright did not return.
Then a small but inconsequent dignity took possession of her, and she
slightly tossed her long curls from her shoulders. She was not going
to wait for any man's permission to see her own aunt. If auntie did not
want to see her, that was enough. She could go home alone. She didn't
want any one to go with her.

Lifted and sustained by these lofty considerations, with an erect head
and slightly ruffled mane, well enwrapped in a becoming white merino
"cloud," the young girl stepped out on her homeward journey. She
had certainly enough to occupy her mind and, perhaps, justify her
independence. To have a suitor for her hand in the person of the
superior and wealthy Mr. Braggs,--for that was what his visit that
morning to West Woodlands meant,--and to be personally complimented
on her improvement by the famous Brother Seabright, all within twelve
hours, was something to be proud of, even although it was mitigated
by her aunt's illness, her suitor's abrupt departure, and Brother
Seabright's momentary coldness and impatience. Oddly enough, this last
and apparently trivial circumstance occupied her thoughts more than the
others. She found herself looking out for him in the windings of the
moonlit road, and when, at last, she reached the turning towards the
little wood and chapel, her small feet unconsciously lingered until
she felt herself blushing under her fleecy "cloud." She looked down the
lane. From the point where she was standing the lights of the chapel
should have been plainly visible; but now all was dark. It was nearly
ten o'clock, and he must have gone home by another road. Then a spirit
of adventure seized her. She had the key of the chapel in her pocket.
She remembered she had left a small black Spanish fan--a former gift of
Mr. Braggs lying on the harmonium. She would go and bring it away, and
satisfy herself that Brother Seabright was not there still. It