I assented, and I saw that peace was made between us; for there was the old friendliness in look and tone. But I said, to make assurance doubly sure:
"This is a good place to forgive me, dear, and to think over my plan in its true light."
"You shall forgive me! I ought to have been glad and grateful," Winifred answered quite humbly.
There was a great sadness in her voice, however; for the sorrows of childhood are very real and very deep, though they do not last.
"Father Owen plays every trouble away into peace," I observed.
"Yes," Winifred replied dreamily.
Then we heard Father Owen coming down from the loft, and we stepped outside, thinking to meet him there and thank him for his music. But instead he went directly into the church, and I returned thither to wait for his coming. I could just discern his figure kneeling on the altar-step, the altar-lamp forming a halo about his venerable head; and I heard his voice repeating over and over again, in accents of intense fervor: "My Jesus, mercy! My Jesus, mercy!" No other prayer only that.
I stole away, more impressed than I had ever been, out into the lovely summer twilight. Winifred's hand was locked in mine as we went.
"I hope," I said before we parted, "that you will soon be very happy over my project—or, at least, very brave."