"That is a more healthy type of piety than I would have given you credit for. I am glad you are not anxious to leave us. The Superior powers are apt to humor such fancies in the young, and remove them from this distasteful world." I saw that a lighter mood was taking the place of his more serious one of a few minutes before, and I hastened to make my request. "Won't you come to church with me this bright morning, Mr. Winthrop?" He looked at me with that clear, honest gaze that always seemed to penetrate my deepest thoughts. "Why do you make that request? You have never asked me before." A guilty blush crimsoned my face, and I murmured something about wanting him to go particularly that morning, and then hastily entered the house. As I put on my bonnet and cloak for church, I made up my mind never to make a request of him again without being able to give a good, honest reason for it. The bell of St. Mark's began ringing as I went down the broad staircase. I paused a moment at the library door, and then went on to the drawing-room, where Mrs. Flaxman usually awaited me. I was surprised to find her sitting near the fire, a book in her hand, and no preparation made for church. "You must go alone this morning, I fear." "Are you not well?" "No, dear; I cannot even plead a headache. I might go deeper, though; for I have had a heartache of late." "Have you got bad news from Hubert?" "On the contrary, I have had better news than usual from him in his last few letters; but, dear, I may have other anxieties than merely personal ones." "Our anxieties should send us to God's house, and not keep us away--don't you think?" "Yes, in most cases. Some day I may explain all this to you, Medoline; but not now." "Good-bye, then," I said, kissing the sweet, gentle face, and thinking I knew what was keeping her at home. As I passed into the hall, I saw Mr. Winthrop coming down from his own room; but I did not pause to speak, thinking he was on his way to the library. My hand was on the door, when he called me back. "After inviting me to church, are you going without me?" I turned and saw that he was taking his hat. "Are you really going?" "Yes, really. I would be rude, indeed, to slight your first invitation." "Do you come this morning merely because I invited you?" I asked, incredulously. "Do you consider it courteous to inquire too minutely into the motives of your friends?" I was silent while I stood for a few seconds regarding him closely. I wondered if he had not taken special pains with his toilet; for I had never seen him look so regally handsome before. He may have detected my admiring gaze; for he said, lightly: "What is wrong, that you favor me with such scrutinizing glances?" "There is nothing wrong, Mr. Winthrop, so far as my eyes can penetrate. I trust that to clearer vision than mine what lies deeper than human gaze can pierce, is equally perfect."