“That it may please Thee to forgive our enemies, persecutors and slanderers, and to turn their hearts.”
Formal words once, repeated as by rote, now how full of significance to Margaret. “Oh, Father in Heaven,” she added, “help me to ask this in all sincerity.”
The litany was over, and the little bustle that ensued, of people rising from their knees, Margaret’s pew door was opened, a warm hand clasped hers, and a cordial voice whispered in her ear:
“I am very late to-day, but ‘better late than never,’ even at church.”
And Margaret, looking up, saw the bright face of Clare Hartley before her.
Poor Margaret, at this unexpected blessing, nearly burst into tears.
“Oh, Clare, have you heard? have you heard?” she eagerly whispered.
There was no time to say more; the services were recommenced, and the congregation attentive.
When the usual morning exercises were over, a portion of the congregation retired, while the other remained for the communion. Clare was not a communicant, but she stayed in the pew to wait for Margaret. Not with the first circle, nor yet with the second, but meekly with the third, Margaret approached the Lord’s table. Mr. Wellworth administered the wine, and one of the deacons the bread. Margaret knelt near the center of the circle, so that about half the set were served before the minister came to her. And when he did, instead of putting the blessed chalice into her hand, he stooped and whispered:
“Miss Helmstedt, I would prefer to talk with you again before administering the sacrament to you.”