"It might be worse,—I might not have had you." [Illustration] CHAPTER VI. THE PASTOR'S STUDY. THE evening of the same day found them seated in the small, cosey study of the parsonage. Mr. Knowles, a white-haired man with a peculiarly mild, benign countenance, sat near the window, his silver locks illumined with the last rays of the setting sun. At his feet Helen had seated herself on an ottoman. From her expressive features the haughty defiance had vanished. For the nonce she was a humble child. Her eyelashes were heavy with unshed tears, not bitter ones, for they had been talking of her father. And these precious memories softened and soothed her poor, torn heart. Opposite them sat Frank and the cheerful companion of the clergyman. They were conversing in animated tones of college life and college duties, while Sybil, an unmarried daughter, moved in and out in the preparation of the simple evening meal. "Come, father," she said, at length, "supper is on the table. And if you wish your pet Helen to enjoy Jane's waffles, you must come while they are hot." A few words entreating a blessing on the food were spoken by the pastor before they were seated. Frank, whose eyes happened to turn toward his sister, was astonished to see her face quivering with emotion. This had passed, however, without notice. And during the meal, he had never remembered to have seen her more cheerful, fascinating all present by her life-like, piquant descriptions of scenes through which she had passed. "Bring the Bible and Psalm book, Sybil," said the good man, when all had eaten, and were full. "Our friends will love to join us in our evening devotions." Helen sprang from the table, and passed him the books. "You always used to let me do it," she exclaimed, playfully. She seated herself close to his elbow, opening the book at the place where the mark was inserted, and then putting her hand lovingly through his arm. Occasionally, through the reading, Frank saw her give the arm a loving squeeze. And once the impulsive girl pressed her lips warmly on the wrinkled hand, when the silver-haired man turned upon her a glance so full of tenderness, that the watcher saw she could scarcely preserve her composure. Indeed, when the few verses of evening praise had been sung, and the pastor poured out his earnest petitions for the friends present to unite in the service, she was wholly overcome, so that her sobs became quite audible. No sooner had they risen from their kneeling posture, than she darted from the room. "Oh! Oh!" she faltered, when Sybil followed, and tried to soothe her. "Oh, if I lived here, I might become good. I do love prayers from real Christian men. But now I'm bad,—all bad!"