Chapter 19 - Page 2

back that wanderer to the fold. But
the very next Sunday brought a great disillusion. As usual her daughter
did not go to church in the morning, but when the bells were calling to
evening service, and she stood with Fan ready to leave the house, she
still lingered, looking very pale, her hands trembling a little with her
agitation, afraid to go out too soon lest Constance should also be
coming. With sinking heart she at last came out, but before walking a
dozen yards she left Fan and went back to the house, and going up to her
daughter's bedroom, tapped at the door.

Constance opened it at once; her hat was on, and she had a book in her
hand.

"Are you not coming to church with us, Constance?" said the mother,
speaking low as if to conceal the fact that her heart was beating fast.

"No mother, I am only going to the garden to read."

Mrs. Churton turned aside, and then stood for some moments in doubt.
There was such a repelling coldness in her daughter's voice, but it was
hard to have all her sweet hopes shattered again!

"Is it because I have expected it this evening, Constance, and have asked
you to go? Then how unkind you are to me! Last Sunday evening you went
unsolicited."

"You are mistaken," returned the other quietly. "I am not and never have
been unkind. All the unkindness and the enmity, open and secret, has been
on your side. That you know, mother. And I did not go unasked last
Sunday. Do you wish to know why I went?"

"Why did you go?"

"Only to please Mr. Northcott, and because he asked me. He knew, I
suppose, as well as I did myself, that it makes no difference, but I
could not do less than go when he wished it, when he is the only person
here who treats me unlike a Christian."

_"Unlike_ a Christian! Constance, what do you mean?"

"I mean that he has treated me kindly, as one human being should treat
another, however much they may differ about speculative matters."

"May God forgive you for your wicked words, Constance."

"Leave me, mother; Fan is waiting, and you will be late at church. I have
not interfered with you in any way about the girl. Teach her what you
like, make much of her, and let her be your daughter. In return I only
ask to be left alone with my own thoughts."

Then Mrs. Churton went down and joined Fan, deeply disappointed, wounded
to the core and surprised as well. For hitherto in all their contests
she, the mother, had been the aggressor, as she could not help confessing
to herself, while Constance had always been singularly placable and had
spoken but little, and that only in self-defence. Now her own gentle and