Somehow the preacher's scholarly self-possession failed him. He felt ill at ease, standing there with the woman's fixed black eyes upon him.
"Why, yes; he always forgives a repentant sinner."
"Repentant sinner." She repeated the words musingly. "I don't understand all these things. I've forgotten most all about it. I want to know. Couldn't I come in some way with the children and be learnt 'em? I wouldn't make any trouble."
There was something almost like a child in her voice just then, almost as earnest and as pure. The preacher took out his handkerchief and wiped his face; then he changed his hat awkwardly from hand to hand.
"Why, why, really, we have no provision in our Sabbath school for cases like this: we have been meaning to establish an institution of a missionary character, but the funds cannot be raised just yet. I am sorry; I don't know but—"
"It's no matter!"
Meg turned sharply away, her hands dropping lifelessly; she moved toward the door. They were alone now in the church, they two.
The minister's pale cheek flushed; he stepped after her.
"Young woman!"
She stopped, her face turned from him.