“Nay, I don’t know—I hope you’ve no call to say that.”
“I usually say what I think. But there’s no need to fret; you’ve time to mend.”
Both the women noticed that for a few days after that, David was very silent and thoughtful. When the Sunday came he excused himself from going to church, much to the surprise and perplexity of his wife. The day after he asks for a holiday, and did not return till late at night.
As they sat round the fire on the following evening, David said suddenly,—“I think I’ve found it out.”
“What?” asked his mistress.
“Your puzzle—and my own too.”
“Let me have the key, by all means, if you possess it.”
“Well, I have been to see the hermit of Holywell. They say he is the holiest man within reach of London, go what way you will. And he has read me a bit out of a book that seems to settle the matter. At least I thought so. Maybe you mightn’t see it so easy.”
“It takes more than fair words to convince me. However, let me hear what it is. What was the book? I should like to know that first.”
“He said it was an epistle written by Paul the Apostle to somebody—I can’t just remember whom.”