nd the quantity of time he spent
on it, quite alarmed Norman and Ethel, who both felt rather nervous on
the Sunday morning, but agreed that preaching was not everything.

Ethel could not see well as far as the reading-desk, but she saw her
father glance up, take off his spectacles, wipe them, and put them away;
and she could not be displeased, though she looked reproof at Blanche's
breathless whisper, "Oh, he looks so nice!" Those white folds did truly
suit well with the meek, serious expression of the young deacon's fair
face, and made him, as his sisters afterwards said, like one of the
solemnly peaceful angel-carvings of the earlier ages.

His voice was sweet and clear, and his reading full of quiet simplicity
and devotion, such as was not often heard by that congregation, who were
too much used either to carelessness or to pomposity. The sermon made
his brother and sister ashamed of their fears. It was an exposition of
the Gospel for the day, practical and earnest, going deep, and rising
high, with a clearness and soberness, yet with a beauty and elevation,
such as Norman and Ethel had certainly not expected--or, rather,
they forgot all their own expectations and Richard himself, and only
recollected their own hearts and the great future before them.

Even Blanche and Aubrey told Margaret a great deal about it, and
declared that, if Richard preached every Sunday, they should like going
to church much better.

When Dr. May came in, some time after, he was looking much pleased.
"So, Mr. Ritchie," he said, "you have made quite a sensation--every one
shaking me by the hand, and thanking me for my son's sermon. You will be
a popular preacher at last!"

Richard blushed distressfully, and quoted the saying, that it would be
the true comfort to hear that people went home, thinking of themselves
rather than of the sermon. This put an end to the subject; but the
doctor went over it again, most thoroughly, with his other children, who
were greatly delighted.

Flora's last home Sunday! She was pale and serious, evidently feeling
much, though seeking no tete-a-tetes; and chiefly engrossed with waiting
on Margaret, or fondling little Gertrude. No one saw the inside of her
mind--probably, she did not herself. On the outside was a very suitable
pensiveness, and affection for all that she was leaving. The only one in
the family to whom she talked much was Norman, who continued to see many
perfections in George, and contrived,