"Let Margaret know, before she comes, please," whispered Faith. "I don't think I could tell her."
"You shall not have a moment of trial that I can spare you. But--Paul will be content with nothing, as a final word, that does not come from you."
"I will see him when he comes. I wish it. Oh, sir! I am so sorry."
"And so am I, Faith. We must all be sorry. But we are _only_ sorry. And that is all that need be said."
The conversation, after this, could not be prolonged. Mr. Rushleigh took his leave, kindly, as he had made his greeting.
"Oh, Aunt Faith! What a terrible thing I have done!"
"What a terrible thing you came near doing, you mean, child! Be thankful to the Lord--He's delivered you from it! And look well to the rest of your life, after all this. Out of fire and misery you must have been saved for something!"
Then Aunt Faith called Glory, and told her to bring an egg, beat up in milk--"to a good froth, mind; and sugared and nut-megged, and a teaspoonful of brandy in it."
This she made Faith swallow, and then bade her put her feet up on the sofa, and lean back, and shut her eyes, and not speak another word till she'd had a nap.
All which, strangely enough, Faith--wearied, troubled, yet relieved--obeyed.
For the next two days, what with waiting on the invalids--for Faith was far from well--and with answering the incessant calls at the door of curious people flocking to inquire, Glory McWhirk was kept busy and tired. But not with a thankless duty, as in the days gone by, that she remembered; it was heart work now, and brought heart love as its reward. It was one of her "real good times."
Mr. Armstrong talked and read with them, and gave hand help and ministry also, just when it could be given most effectually.
It was a beautiful lull of peace between the conflict that was past, and the final pang that was to come. Faith accepted it with a thankfulness. Such joy as this was all life had for her, henceforth. There was no restlessness, no selfishness in the love that had so suddenly asserted itself, and borne down all her doubts. She thought not of it, as love, any more. She never dreamed of being other to Mr. Armstrong than she was. Only, that other life had become impossible to her. Here, if she might not elsewhere, she had gone back to the things that were. She could be quite content and happy, so. It was enough to rest in such a friendship. If only she had once seen Paul, and if he could but bear it!