e errand do you go telling that woman that God's
word is not true?"

She spoke gently, yet as the doctor faced her he saw that her soft eye
could be steady as an eagle's. He did not answer.

"Not for God's service," she went on answering herself,--"nor for
yours. See to it!"

She turned and let him put her into the carriage and they set off
again. But the drive homewards promised to be as silent as the drive
out had been. The doctor was grave after another fashion now, with a
further-down gravity, and scarce looked at anything but his horses;
except when a glance or a hand came to see if Faith was well wrapped up
from the wind, or to make her so. And either action was done not with
his accustomed grace merely, but with even a more delicate tender care
of her than ordinary. Faith was in little danger of cold for some time.
Grief and loving sorrow were stirred and stirring too deeply for
thought or feeling of anything else; only that beneath and with them
her heart was singing, singing, in notes that seemed to reach her from
the very harps of heaven,--

"I thank Thee, uncreated Sun,
That thy bright beams on me have shined!"

As they went on, however, and mile after mile was passed over again,
and the afternoon waned, the wind clouds seemed thicker and the wind
more keen; Faith felt it and began to think of home The horses felt it
too, and perhaps also thought of home, for they travelled well.

"What are you meditating, Miss Derrick?" the doctor said at length,
almost the first word he had spoken.

"I was thinking, just at that minute, sir, of the use of beauty in the
world."

"The use of beauty!" said the doctor, looking at her; he would have
been astonished, if the uppermost feeling had not been of relief. "What
is its use? To make the world civilized and habitable, isn't it?"

"No--" said Faith,--"I should think it was meant to make us good. Look
at the horses, Dr. Harrison!"

The carriage had turned an angle of the road, which brought the wind
pretty strongly in their faces. The horses seemed to take it as
doubtful fun, or else to be inclined to make too much fun of it. They
were all alive with spirit, rather excited than allayed by their miles
of quick travelling. The doctor tried to quiet them by rein and voice
both.

"They get a little too much oats for the work they do," said he. "I
must take them out oftener. Take care of this wind, Miss Derrick; I
haven't a hand to help you. What's that?--"