broad staircase.
I paused a moment at the library door, and then went on to the
drawing-room, where Mrs. Flaxman usually awaited me. I was surprised to
find her sitting near the fire, a book in her hand, and no preparation
made for church.

"You must go alone this morning, I fear."

"Are you not well?"

"No, dear; I cannot even plead a headache. I might go deeper, though; for
I have had a heartache of late."

"Have you got bad news from Hubert?"

"On the contrary, I have had better news than usual from him in his last
few letters; but, dear, I may have other anxieties than merely personal
ones."

"Our anxieties should send us to God's house, and not keep us away--don't
you think?"

"Yes, in most cases. Some day I may explain all this to you, Medoline;
but not now."

"Good-bye, then," I said, kissing the sweet, gentle face, and thinking I
knew what was keeping her at home. As I passed into the hall, I saw Mr.
Winthrop coming down from his own room; but I did not pause to speak,
thinking he was on his way to the library. My hand was on the door, when
he called me back.

"After inviting me to church, are you going without me?"

I turned and saw that he was taking his hat.

"Are you really going?"

"Yes, really. I would be rude, indeed, to slight your first invitation."

"Do you come this morning merely because I invited you?" I asked,
incredulously.

"Do you consider it courteous to inquire too minutely into the motives of
your friends?"

I was silent while I stood for a few seconds regarding him closely. I
wondered if he had not taken special pains with his toilet; for I had
never seen him look so regally handsome before. He may have detected my
admiring gaze; for he said, lightly:

"What is wrong, that you favor me with such scrutinizing glances?"

"There is nothing wrong, Mr. Winthrop, so far as my eyes can penetrate. I
trust that to clearer vision than mine what lies deeper than human gaze
can pierce, is equally perfect."

"Is it your custom, little one, to pay your male acquaintances such open
compliments?"

"It was not a compliment. I only spoke the truth," I said, quietly, as we
walked side by side down the lilac-bordered footpath, the way we always
went to church when we walked, as it cut off a-half mile or more. It was
a charming walk in summer; but now the low bushes looked common and
ungraceful, stripped of their foliage; but the ground was high, and over
their tops we could see the d