“It isn’t what I want you to do. It’s what you ought to do. I’m nobody. But have you thought at all of the spiritual side of it?” Bertha gave a sigh that was chiefly voluptuous. “I’ve thought that I’m going to have a son, that’s mine and Eddie’s; and I’m awfully thankful.” “Wouldn’t you like me to read the Bible to you sometimes?” “Good heavens, you talk as if I were going to die.” “One can never tell, dear Bertha,” replied Miss Glover, sombrely; “I think you ought to be prepared.... ‘In the midst of life we are in death’--one can never tell what may happen.” Bertha looked at her somewhat anxiously. She had been forcing herself of late to be cheerful, and had found it necessary to stifle a recurring presentiment of evil fortune. The Vicar’s sister never realised that she was doing everything possible to make Bertha thoroughly unhappy. “I brought my own Bible with me,” she said. “Do you mind if I read you a chapter?” “I should like it,” said Bertha, and a cold shiver went through her. “Have you got any preference for some particular part?” asked Miss Glover, extracting the book from a little black bag which she always carried. On Bertha’s answer that she had no preference, Miss Glover suggested opening the Bible at random, and reading on from the first line that crossed her eyes. “Charles doesn’t quite approve of it,” she said; “he thinks it smacks of superstition. But I can’t help doing it, and the early Protestants constantly did the same.” Miss Glover, having opened the book with closed eyes, began to read: “_The sons of Pharez! Hezron, and Hamul. And the sons of Zerah; Zimri, and Ethan, and Heman, and Calcol, and Dara; five of them in all_.” Miss Glover cleared her throat. “_And the sons of Ethan; Azariah. The sons also of Hezron, that were born unto him; Jerahmeel, and Ram, and Chelubai. And Ram begat Amminadab; and Amminadab begat Nahshon, prince of the children of Judah._” She had fallen upon the genealogical table at the beginning of the Book of Chronicles. The chapter was very long, and consisted entirely of names, uncouth and difficult to pronounce; but Miss Glover shirked not one of them. With grave and somewhat high-pitched delivery, modelled on her brother’s, she read out the bewildering list. Bertha looked at her in amazement. “That’s the end of the chapter,” she said at last; “would you like me to read you another one?” “Yes, I should like it very much; but I don’t think the part you’ve hit on is quite to the point.” “My dear, I don’t want to reprove you--that’s not my duty--but all the Bible is to the point.” * * * * *