This storm included Sunday, and every one went to church except Theodora. She had a headache, and having been told by Christina that the Kirk would size her up the first Sabbath she appeared, she resolved to put off the ordeal. The pleasure of being quite alone for a few hours was a temptation, for she needed solitude more than service, bewildered as she was by the strange household ideas and customs which had suddenly encompassed her life. She had thought that religion, or some point of nationality, would be the most likely rocks of offence, but as yet all her trials had come from some trivial circumstance of daily life. She had been embarrassed by such small differences, that she hardly knew in the hasty decisions they compelled, what to defend and what to abandon. It was also a wearisome experience to be constantly exchanging suspicious courtesies with her husband's family, and by no effort of love or patience could she get beyond these. Their want of response made her sad, and checked her affectionate and spontaneous advances, but she knew that in the trials of domestic life all plans must come at last to the give and take, bear and forbear theory. So after some reflection, she said softly to herself: "These women are the samples of humanity given me with my husband, and I must make the best of them. I can choose my friends, but I must take my relations as I find them. They are not what I wish, not what I expected, but I fear nothing comes up to our expectations. The real thing always lacks the color of the thing hoped for." Such despondent musings, however, were not natural to her hopeful temper. "There must be a bright side to the situation," she continued, "and I must try and find it." So she roused herself from the recumbent position she had taken. "Stand up on thy feet, and look for the bright side, Theodora." As she did so, her eyes fell upon the small book in her hand, and she read these words: "Take a good heart, O Jerusalem, for he that gave thee that name will comfort thee." With a joyful smile she read it again, and this time aloud: "Take a good heart, O Theodora, for he that gave thee that name will comfort thee!"[1] The glorious promise inspired her at once with strength and joy; she felt her soul singing within her, and her first impulse was to open the piano and pour out her thanksgiving. "O come let us sing unto the Lord, let us heartily rejoice in the strength of our salvation." [Footnote 1: Baruch. Chap. 4, v. 30.] At this point McNab rushed into the room crying: "For goodness sake, my lady, stop! You'll be having the police in, and the de'il to pay all round, disturbing the Sunday saints and the like o' it. Excuse me, ma'am, but you don't know what you're up to." "I am singing a psalm, McNab. Is there anything wrong in that?"