"Felicia, listen to me," the Vicar said earnestly; "I see you have discovered your uncle has not that faith in His Father in Heaven which is the guiding light of every true Christian. Pray for him that what is dark to him now may be made plain to him. His lack of faith was a terrible grief to his poor mother; and it was her constant prayer that he might be brought into Christ's fold. As she lay dying she told me that she believed one day her prayers would be answered, and that your uncle's heart would find rest and happiness. Does he ever speak to you about religion?"
"Not often; but sometimes of an evening I have read the Bible to him." And she explained how that had come to pass.
The Vicar was evidently much surprised, and he heard all she told him with great interest.
"He says he likes listening to my voice, and he always lets me choose the parts I like best, so I read to him from the New Testament generally. He's rather interested in Saint Paul—he says he had a fine intellect, and he liked hearing how he talked to Agrippa," Felicia concluded thoughtfully.
The Vicar smiled but rather sadly.
"Weren't you surprised to find Uncle Guy downstairs to-night?" the little girl asked after a brief silence.
"Most agreeably surprised. What are you looking so mysterious about?"
But Felicia shook her head smilingly, and declined to say. She had no intention of telling her companion of the conversation she had had with her uncle on the previous evening, though she had little doubt her impulsively spoken words had had something to do with causing him to throw off his inertness and bestir himself to-night; and she was certain of it when her bedtime came, for on saying "Good-night" to Uncle Guy, he detained her to whisper in a low tone so that only herself should hear—
"By the way, Felicia, I considered your lecture, and—you see the result."