Chester smiled, which was just what his companion wanted. "You remain here today," continued the elder. "The boys will be in after a while, and then we shall have dinner. After that, if you are still thinking too much of your own affairs, we'll take you out on the street and let you preach to the crowd." "That might help," admitted Chester. "Help! It's the surest kind of cure." Chester remained with the elders during the afternoon and evening, even going out with them on the street. He was not called on to preach, however, though he would have attempted it had he been asked. Chester slept better that night. He felt so sure of himself next morning that he could call on Lucy, and do the right thing. He did not forget or neglect his prayers any more, and he was well on the way of saying again, "Thy will be done," in the right spirit. Uncle Gilbert met Chester at the door, not very graciously, however. He replied to Chester's inquiries sharply: "My brother is quite ill, brought about, I have no doubt, by your unwise actions of yesterday morning. What was the matter with you? I don't understand you." Chester did not attempt any explanation or defense. "And Lucy, too, was quite ill yesterday--no; she is not up yet--no; I don't think you had better come in. I shall not permit you to see my brother again until he is better." "I'm very sorry," said Chester. "I must see Lucy, however, and so I'll call again after a while." He walked away. He did not blame Uncle Gilbert, who was no doubt doing the best he knew, although somewhat in the dark. He walked in the park for an hour and then came back. Lucy met him at the gate. She was dressed as if for walking. Her face betrayed the disturbance in her soul, and Chester's heart went out in pity for her. "Yes," she said simply, "I was going out to find you, I heard Uncle Gilbert send you away. Shall we walk in the park?" "Yes; I am glad you came out. Is your father worse this morning?" "I don't think he is worse. He is simply in the stage of his attacks when he can't talk. I'm sure he'll be all right in a day or two; but Uncle Gilbert don't understand." "And you, Lucy--you must not worry." "How can I help it? Something is the matter with you. Why do you act so strangely?" They found the bench on which they were wont to rest, and seated themselves. Chester could not deny that he had changed; yet how could he tell her the truth? She must know it, the sooner the better. It might be many days before her father could tell her, even if he were inclined to do so. The situation was unbearable. She must know, and he must tell her. "Lucy," he said after a little struggle with his throat, "I have something to tell you,--something strange. Oh, no, nothing evil or bad, or anything like that." He took her hands which were trembling. "You must promise me that you will take this news quietly." "Just as quietly as I can, Chester."