"You cannot help me," he answered wearily; "only trust me when I say it is best for me not to tell you now; you shall know all there is to know, later. Be patient just a few days,--until after the Sabbath. Oh, bear with me,--I am in great sorrow, Helen; help me with silence." She put her arms around him, and in her caressing voice, with that deep note in it, she said, "It shall be just as you say, darling. I won't ask you another question, but I'm ready to hear whenever you want to tell me." He looked at her with haggard eyes, but did not answer. Then she drew him out into the fresh coolness of the garden, and tried to bring some brightness into his face by talking of small household happenings, and how she had missed him during his two weeks' absence, and what plans she had for the next week. But no smile touched his white lips, or banished the absent look in his eyes. After tea, during which his silence had not been broken, he turned to go into his study. "Oh, you are not going to work to-night?" Helen cried. "Don't leave me alone again!" He looked at her with sudden wistfulness. "I--I must," he said, his voice so changed it gave her a shock of pain. "I must work on my sermon." "I thought you had written it," she said; "and you are so tired--do wait until to-morrow." "I am not going to use the sermon I prepared," he answered. "I have decided to preach more directly on foreign missions. You know I exchange with Mr. Grier, of Chester, on the Sabbath; and he will preach to our church on the attitude of Assembly towards missions. I had intended to give a more general sermon to his people, but--I have decided otherwise." Helen was surprised at so long an explanation; John's sermons were generally ignored by both, but for different reasons. She followed him into the study, and when she had lighted his lamp he kissed her, saying softly, "May God bless you, Helen," and then he shut her gently from the room. "Don't lock the door, John," she had said. "I won't come in, but don't lock it." Her lip almost trembled as she spoke. "No,--no," he said tenderly. "Oh, Helen, I have made you suffer!" She was quick to protect him. "No, I was only lonely; but you won't lock it?" He did not, but poor Helen wandered forlornly about the darkened house, an indefinable dread chasing away the relief which had come when her husband spoke of spiritual trouble; she was glad, for the mere humanness of it, to hear Thaddeus and Alfaretta talking in the kitchen.