Still Bertha did not answer and Miss Glover looked at her uneasily. The Vicar coughed again. “But I always think that we should be thankful for the cross we have to bear. It is, as it were, a measure of the confidence that God places in us.” Bertha remained quite silent and Miss Glover saw that no good would come by beating about the bush. “The fact is, Bertha,” she said, breaking the awkward silence, “that Charles and I are very anxious that you should be churched. You don’t mind our saying so, but we’re both a great deal older than you are, and we think it will do you good. We do hope you’ll consent to it; but, more than that, Charles is here as the clergyman of your parish, to tell you that it is your duty.” “I hope it won’t be necessary for me to put it in that way, Mrs. Craddock.” Bertha paused a moment longer, and then asked for a prayer-book. Miss Glover gave a smile which for her was quite radiant. “I’ve been wanting for a long time to make you a little present, Bertha,” she said, “and it occurred to me that you might like a prayer-book with good large print. I’ve noticed in church that the book you generally use is so small that it must try your eyes, and be a temptation to you not to follow the service. So I’ve brought you one to-day, which it will give me very much pleasure if you will accept.” She produced a large volume, bound in gloomy black cloth, and redolent of the antiseptic odours which pervaded the Vicarage. The print was indeed large, but, since the society which arranged the publication insisted on the combination of cheapness with utility, the paper was abominable. “Thank you very much,” said Bertha, holding out her hand for the gift. “It’s awfully kind of you.” “Shall I find you the _Churching of Women_?” Bertha nodded, and presently the Vicar’s sister handed her the book, open. She read a few lines and dropped it. “I have no wish to ‘give hearty thanks unto God,’” she said, looking almost fiercely at the worthy pair. “I’m very sorry to offend your prejudices, but it seems to me absurd that I should prostrate myself in gratitude to God.” “Oh, Mrs. Craddock, I trust you don’t mean what you say,” said the Vicar. “This is what I told you, Charles,” said Miss Glover. “I don’t think Bertha is well, but still this seems to me dreadfully wicked.” Bertha frowned, finding it difficult to repress the sarcasm which rose to her lips; her forbearance was sorely tried. But Mr. Glover was a little undecided. “We must be as thankful to God for the afflictions He sends as for the benefits,” he said at last. “I am not a worm to crawl upon the ground and give thanks to the foot that crushes me.” “I think that is blasphemous, Bertha,” said Miss Glover. “Oh, I have no patience with you, Fanny,” said Bertha, raising herself, a flush lighting up her face. “Can you realise what I’ve gone through, the terrible pain of it? Oh, it was too awful. Even now when I think of it I almost scream.”