She had seen little of David, except at church, and began to regard him almost as one might a statue on a tomb, the marble effigy of the beloved dead below; for the sweet old friendship was only a pale shadow now. He always found her out, gave her the posy she best liked, said cheerfully, “How goes it, Christie?” and she always answered, “Good-morning, David. I am well and busy, thank you.” Then they sat together listening to Mr. Power, sung from the same book, walked a little way together, and parted for another week with a hand-shake for good-by. Christie often wondered what prayers David prayed when he sat so still with his face hidden by his hand, and looked up with such a clear and steady look when he had done. She tried to do the same; but her thoughts would wander to the motionless gray figure beside her, and she felt as if peace and strength unconsciously flowed from it to sustain and comfort her. Some of her happiest moments were those she spent sitting there, pale and silent, with absent eyes, and lips that trembled now and then, hidden by the flowers held before them, kissed covertly, and kept like relics long after they were dead. One bitter drop always marred the pleasure of that hour; for when she had asked for Mrs. Sterling, and sent her love, she forced herself to say kindly: “And Kitty, is she doing well?” “Capitally; come and see how she has improved; we are quite proud of her.” “I will if I can find time. It’s a hard winter and we have so much to do,” she would answer smiling, and then go home to struggle back into the patient mood she tried to make habitual. But she seldom made time to go and see Kitty’s improvement; and, when she did run out for an hour she failed to discover any thing, except that the girl was prettier and more coquettish than ever, and assumed airs of superiority that tried Christie very much. “I am ready for any thing,” she always said with a resolute air after one of these visits; but, when the time seemed to have come she was not so ready as she fancied. Passing out of a store one day, she saw Kitty all in her best, buying white gloves with a most important air. “That looks suspicious,” she thought, and could not resist speaking. “All well at home?” she asked. “Grandma and I have been alone for nearly a week; David went off on business; but he’s back now and—oh, my goodness! I forgot: I’m not to tell a soul yet;” and Kitty pursed up her lips, looking quite oppressed with some great secret. “Bless me, how mysterious! Well, I won’t ask any dangerous questions, only tell me if the dear old lady is well,” said Christie, desperately curious, but too proud to show it. “She’s well, but dreadfully upset by what’s happened; well she may be.” And Kitty shook her head with a look of mingled mystery and malicious merriment.