Christmas morning. All the good people of Kingcombe were going
to church. One only household did not go to church--there was hardly
need, when all their life henceforward would be one long grateful psalm.

Agatha came down much as she had done on her first Sunday morning in
the same house, and made breakfast in the little parlour. There was a
strange hush about her--a joy too solemn for outward expression. When
she had finished all her preparations, she stood by the window, looking
on the sunny little garden, and listening to the Christ-mas-bells. The
tears sprang faster--faster--her lips moved. What she was uttering no
ear heard--save One. Whatever the good Kingcombe people thought, He
to whom the whole earth is a temple, and all time a long Sabbath of
praise--would forgive her that she did not go to church that day.

She heard a foot on the stairs, and ran thither like lightning.

Nathanael appeared. He was extremely feeble--every motion seemed to give
him pain;--and his whole appearance was that of one rescued from the
very jaws of the grave. But he looked so happy--so infinitely happy!

Agatha half-scolded him. "Why did you not call me? Why not let me help
you to walk? I can do it, I know." And creeping under his arm, she tried
to convert her little self into a marvellously strong support.

Her husband only smiled, allowing himself to be led to the sofa, laid
down, and made comfortable with countless pillows. Then she stood and
looked at him.

"Are you content?"

"Quite content," he murmured. "So content, that I want nothing in this
wide world."

And by his look his wife knew that this was true.

"Agatha, darling, you have been crying? Come and sit here."

She came--making a minute's pretence of smiles, and then fell on his
neck, weeping,

"Oh! I don't deserve to be so happy--so very happy!"

"Child," he answered, with a grave tenderness, "if we went by desert,
who among us would deserve anything? Should I, who was so hard and cold
towards my poor little wife, when, if I had said one word out of my real
heart, and not kept it down so proudly--Ah! I was very wicked. I, too,
did not deserve that God should save me from death, and bring me home to
my dear wife's love. Darling! don't let us talk of deservings; only let
us try to be good, and always, always love one another."

Oh, the heavenly silence of that embrace, the life of life, that was in
it! Now for the first time the bond of full and perfect love