No; I am afraid Mary did not even hear what chapter and verse the text was from that Sunday. That Sunday, particularly; for the very day before she had received a letter in which her lover had said something like this: Yes, _he_ went to church now; that is, he sat in the Argo every Sunday, from eleven till one; sat there and thought of nothing but her,—and so found that heaven which she sought. Strictly speaking, these were what were thought wicked words in those days (ole Virginny neber tire); but Mary forgave, though she did not even try to forget them. And no sooner had she taken her seat than her thoughts flew to the Argo. She could see him as plainly as though he stood before her; and he was thinking of her. And of her only, of all the world! Are you in love, lovely reader? Then you will not be hard on my poor little heroine, who ought to have waited, I allow, till Monday. “You will find the words of my text in II. Corinthians, vi. 14.” In those days I sat in the Carters’ pew. The Rolfes were across the aisle, a few pews in advance of us. Mary’s cousin was still nearer the pulpit. I suppose it is none of my business, but when I cast my eyes over the placid faces of a congregation, I always fall to wondering what they are thinking about. Not the grandmothers in Israel, but the rest? “II. Corinthians, vi. 14,” repeated the preacher, slowly emphasizing the figures. They all do it. There was to be heard that faint rustle that we all know, of the people making themselves comfortable. Here a little foot peeps cautiously around, and, finding the accustomed stool, draws it deftly beneath snowy skirts. There a wide sole seeks unoccupied space; while length of limb penetrates unexplored regions, avoiding cramp. Let us adjust ourselves, you in that corner, I in this, where we can sit and muse according to the bent of our several backs and minds. “II. Corinthians, vi. 14.” My eye chanced to fall on Mary’s face just at that moment. It wore the usual Sunday-dreamy look. “Be ye not unequally yoked together with unbelievers.” She shivered. Alice glanced quickly towards her; but the thrill had already passed. She had regained outward composure, and sat looking at the preacher, calm and unobtrusively attentive. The cousin fidgeted in his seat and coughed softly in his hand. Alice fixed her eyes upon him. Perhaps he felt them, for a deeper glow suffused his hectic cheek. The preacher, after a few introductory remarks on the state of things which led the apostle to use these words, began with a sort of apology for calling the attention of his flock to such a text. And again Alice fixed her eyes upon the cousin, and again he seemed to feel their glow.