“None that interfere with my duties.”
He made no further attempt to dissuade her. He knew how utterly useless it would be. He contented himself with saying:
“There’ll be no peace in this city till that man is a thousand miles away.”
And she replied: “It’s war that this city needs, not peace.”
He stood on the corner and watched her out of sight, but he made no attempt to follow her. That would have been rash and futile.
Threading her way along the busy thoroughfare, she passed through the heart of the city and turned into a cross street. At the end of the second block she was in the shadow of the spire of Christ Church. Just beyond, across the lawn whitened by the first December snow, stood the rectory. Her heart began to fail her when she saw it. Her gait lessened; an unreasoning fear swept down upon her. It seemed to her that the snow on the lawn hid some tragic thing which she dared not pass by. She stopped, turned, and would have retraced her steps had not the high-pitched voice of a newsboy a block away come at that moment to her ears.
“Mornin’ Mail! All ’bout the trouble in Christ Church!”
She clenched her gloved hands, faced the rectory, went up the walk, mounted the steps and rang the bell. A maid admitted her, announced her, and ushered her into the library. The rector came in from his study and greeted her cordially. Burdened and care-worn indeed he seemed to be, but not harassed nor dismayed. And when she saw that his faith was not dimmed nor his courage broken, the old diffidence came back upon her; the diffidence that always embarrassed her in his presence, and she could not talk. The errand she had had in mind seemed to have faded away.
“It’s nothing much that I came for,” she said brokenly.
“You do not need an errand when you come here,” he assured her. “You are always welcome.”