"What do you always shake your head for, doctor, when you look at him?" asked Aveline, laughing; "has he so much the appearance of a bad subject?"
"I shook my head at the mushrooms," said Mr. Lindsay.
"You see, doctor, her spirits are very good," said Mrs. Fitzpatrick, in a low voice.
"I see," he replied, with a nod. But it was evident he saw no comfort in it.
Every one knows the stillness that seems to settle over town and country on the Sunday in England. Even in the most retired spot, everything is more silent and quiet than before. No sound of waggons in the neighbouring lanes; no rural noise of labourers going forth to their daily toil. And when the scenery chances to be beautiful, the day warm and fine, and this delicious quiet diffused around, only broken by the distant and uncertain sound of the church bells; there are few persons who would be tempted to exchange this refreshing pause from labour; this purifying rest to the mind, for the gaudy revelry of a continental Sabbath day.
Mrs. Fitzpatrick pointed out this stillness to Mr. Haveloc, when he met her in front of her cottage the next morning.
"It always brings to my mind those words of the Psalmist," she said, "'Be still, and know that I am God!' As if this complete and solemn repose were necessary to the mind, before contemplating the majesty of the Divine nature."
"Does Miss Fitzpatrick still hold to her intention?" he asked.
"She does; unless you can persuade her out of it."