Mr. St. John said this with a radiancy of delight which Miss Gusher ascribed entirely to his approbation of her zeal; but the heavens and the earth had assumed a new aspect to him since that little talk in the corner. For when Angie lifted her eyes, not only had she read the unutterable in his, but he also had looked far down into the depths of her soul, and seen something he did not quite dare to put into words, but in the light of which his whole life now seemed transfigured.
It was a new and amazing experience to Mr. St. John, and he felt strangely happy, yet particularly anxious that Miss Gusher and Miss Vapors, and all the other tribe of his devoted disciples, should not by any means suspect what had fallen out; and therefore it was that he assumed such a cheerful zeal in the matter of the font and decorations.
Meanwhile, Angie sat in her quiet corner, like a good little church mouse, working steadily and busily on her cross. Just as she had put in the last bunch of bitter-sweet, Mr. St. John was again at her elbow.
"Angie," he said, "you are going to give me that cross. I want it for my study, to remember this morning by."
"But I made it for the front of the organ."
"Never mind. I can put another there; but this is to be mine," he said, with a voice of appropriation. "I want it because you were making it when you promised what you did. You must keep to that promise, Angie."
"Oh, yes, I shall."
"And I want one thing more," he said, lifting Angie's little glove, where it had fallen among the refuse pieces.
"What!—my glove? Is not that silly?"
"No, indeed."