In her fertile brain Mrs. Thorpe beheld them all, the old members and the new, and the strangers among them, as in a vision, and all were trying to climb the mountains of ice, trying to reach Heaven over a pathway of cold indifference and fixed and rigid form.
Mr. Thorpe joined his wife near the church door and he put his arm protectingly about her as she descended the church steps. He felt that the Lord had been specially kind to give her strength to be present at this service.
Pauline preceded them and was already in the kitchen overseeing the dinner when they arrived. Mrs. Thorpe went directly to her room and, removing her wraps, sank down in her easy chair. Her eyes were dry and bright, but she covered her face with her hands and her shoulders quivered as if beneath a load.
"Never again," she moaned, "never again can I trust myself to hear his voice from the pulpit."
The admission wrung her heart and hurt her as hearts are wrung and hurt when some dear one passes from view of mortal sight.
Pauline tapped at the door and announced dinner. Mrs. Thorpe arose and stood for a moment before her fire.
"If there were a God," she whispered, "if there were a God, loving and strong and powerful--oh, a God who cares for His own, how passionately would I beseech Him to be with me now, to help and uphold me!" She walked over and opened her door. "There really should be such a God--Friend--Father," she continued in an undertone, "for we need Him so!"
Mr. Thorpe and Pauline were awaiting her in the dining-room. Mr. Thorpe, who was never lacking in the small courtesies of the home, seated her at the table and took his place opposite.
"I am glad to see that the exertion of the morning has not overtried your strength, my dear," he said. "Your face in the congregation is an inspiration to me. I hope you will be able to attend regularly hereafter."
Pauline, whose insight was keener than the pastor's, divined that all was not well with Mrs. Thorpe, and broached another subject.