Faith uttered a half-audible assent, and as Hendie's step came nearer down the stairs, and passed the door, straight out upon the grassplot, toward the gate, and the long-tailed black horse that stood there, she escaped again to her own chamber. Hendie had his ride. Meanwhile, his sister, down upon her knees at her bedside, struggled with the mystery and doubt of her own heart. Why could she not feel happier? Would it never be otherwise? Was this all life had for her, in its holiest gift, henceforth? But, come what might, she would have God, always! So, without words, only with tears, she prayed, and at last, grew calm. CHAPTER XXIV. CONFLICT. "O Life, O Beyond, _Art_ thou fair!--_art_ thou sweet?" MRS. BROWNING. There followed days that almost won Faith back into her outward life of pleasantness. Margaret came over with Madam Rushleigh, and felicitated herself and friend, impetuously. Paul's mother thanked her for making her son happy. Old Mr. Rushleigh kissed her forehead with a blessing. And Mr. and Mrs. Gartney looked upon their daughter as with new eyes of love. Hendie rode the black horse every day, and declared that "everything was just as jolly as it could be!" Paul drove her out, and walked with her, and talked of his plans, and all they would do and have together. And she let herself be brightened by all this outward cheer and promise, and this looking forward to a happiness and use that were to come. But still she shrank and trembled at every loverlike caress, and still she said, fearfully, every now and then: "Paul--I don't feel as you do. What if I don't love you as I ought?" And Paul called her his little oversensitive, conscientious Faithie, and persuaded himself and her that he had no fear--that he was quite satisfied. When Mr. Armstrong came to see her, gravely and tenderly wishing her joy, and looked searchingly into her face for the pure content that should be there, she bent her head into her hands, and wept. She was very weak, you say? She ought to have known her own mind better? Perhaps. I speak of her as she was. There are mistakes like these in life; there are hearts that suffer thus, unconscious of their ail. The minister waited while the momentary burst of emotion subsided, and something of Faith's wonted manner returned. "It is very foolish of me," she said, "and you must think me very strange. But, somehow, tears come easily when one has been feeling a great deal. And such kind words from you touch me." "My words and thoughts will always be kind for you, my child. And I know very well that tears may mean sweeter and deeper things than smiles. I will not try you with much talking now. You have my affectionate wishes and my prayers. If there is ever any help that I can give, to you who have so much loving help about you, count on me as an earnest friend, always." The hour was past when Faith, if she could ever, could have asked of him the help she did most sorely need.