His prayer next morning was very short, but afterwards he stood at the window for a space, and when he turned, his aunt said:
"Ye will get yir sermon, and it will be worth hearing."
"How did ye know?"
But she only smiled, "I heard you pray."
When he shut himself into the study that Saturday morning, his aunt went into her room above, and he knew she had gone to intercede for him.
An hour afterwards he was pacing the garden in such anxious thought that he crushed with his foot a rose lying on the path, and then she saw his face suddenly lighten, and he hurried to the house, but first he plucked a bunch of forget-me-nots. In the evening she found them on his sermon.
Two hours later—for still she prayed and watched in faithfulness to mother and son—she observed him come out and wander round the garden in great joy. He lifted up the soiled rose and put it in his coat; he released a butterfly caught in some mesh; he buried his face in fragrant honeysuckle. Then she understood that his heart was full of love, and was sure that it would be well on the morrow.
When the bell began to ring, the minister rose from his knees and went to his aunt's room to be robed, for this was a covenant between them.
His gown was spread out in its black silken glory, but he sat down in despair.
"Auntie, whatever shall we do, for I've forgotten the bands?"