"Flora!" whispered Mary Clarice, warningly. Eben turned back without a word and set down his lamp.
"You may give me the book, my son," said his mother. "I will read for once."
Without speaking, Eben brought out the great Bible, laid it on the table before his mother, arranged the lamp conveniently for her, and then sat down in the corner, turning his own face from the light. It was the long-established custom of the family to read the New Testament through in course, but this night, for some reason of her own, Mrs. Fairchild departed from that custom, turning over to the Gospel of John and reading our Lord's intercessory prayer. Then she said, a little tremulously:
"We will sing your father's favourite hymn, children:"
"'How blest the tie that binds
Our hearts in Christian love!'"
"He always loved that hymn, and I remember we sung it at worship in his room the very day before he died. Mary, will you start the tune?"
Flora broke down at the first verse and Eben's notes were very husky, but Mrs. Fairchild's weak, sweet voice and Mary's strong and full one carried the plaintive melody through to the end. Mrs. Fairchild's prayer was as simple as that of a child. She prayed that they might all be kept in the love of God and of each other, that no clouds might come between them, but that they might have grace to see clearly, and to fulfil their duty, the one towards the other. Mrs. Fairchild's religious faith was her strong point, and gave to her character all the force it possessed.
Eben's pride broke down, and he cried like a child, when he heard his mother give thanks for all the mercies that had been shown even in the midst of loss and bereavement, and especially for the gift of dutiful and affectionate children. When they rose, he wiped his eyes and said, manfully, but in rather a choked voice:
"I believe I have been very cross and disagreeable this evening."
"I am glad you have found it out," interrupted Flora.