The light of enthusiastic fervour brightened her saddened countenance--and once again stopping to take sweet counsel with the bells--she left her room full of strong resolve. But when she reached the study door, and laid her hand upon its lock, she paused, tremblingly. Often had she come before, on the same errand, and as often had retired, unheard, and disappointed at her own timidity. Now, her beautiful cheek flushed, and her heart beat so loudly, that she laid her hand upon it to still its beating; yet trembling, throbbing, uneasy, as was that heart, it was true to its purpose still. She had sat in her garret room for more than an hour that morning, thinking of what she should say--she had listened to the Sabbath bells, as one after another they took up the same hallowed tone--and still she had found no words strong enough and meek enough to speak to him. Yet had she come. Mr. Villars raised his head, as she entered, and, after a quick greeting, went on with his writing. Across and across the paper went the unwearying hand. She stood at the other side of the table, hoping he would look up and say something--but he still continued writing. On went the bells--from the venerable and gray stoned Abbey belfry--from the good, old-fashioned, little church of Walcot--and, far as the ear could reach, from the ivy-covered tower on the hill--on they went--and Mr. Villars continued writing--and Mabel stood irresolute, for all her eloquence was gone; but, at length, she stammered forth-- "Uncle, will you come to church?" He looked up--her very soul was in those few words--and in the tearful eyes which seconded her request. On went the bells. He laid down his pen, and looked at her--but her eyes were fixed upon the ground. "Who is going?" he said, at length, looking more fixedly. "Lucy and I." "Very well then, make haste and put on your bonnet, for I hear the bells." He did hear them indeed, for what a clatter they made, one after another, as if they _would_ be heard. Mabel ran away all joyousness--very soon she had her bonnet on, for that took little time, and then she was down with Lucy--getting her shawl, and finding her lost gloves, and her prayer-book, and then, all pleasant bustle, as if she feared he would change his mind, down again to her uncle's study, ready with the soft brush to smooth his sleek hat. And then they were in the street, and taking their way, not to any of the fashionable places of worship, but down the shady part of the old town to a little church which seemed to hide itself from view, so small that the imagination could scarcely wander round its walls, from the voice of the venerable preacher, whose simple but well chosen language brought conviction with it. There too, the white-haired, aged clerk, in his stiff quaint reading desk, and the twelve old pensioners, nearly as old as himself. And then so few to listen they could not choose but hear.