"Thou art my only relative, alas! Save one, living in this country, and it is hard to let thee go," said she; "we shall never meet again in this world, but I shall see thee in heaven."
It was with a heavy heart and a sad face that Therese at last took her leave. She walked slowly homeward, and was very silent all the evening. Before she went to bed, she spent a long time in prayer and in searching her Bible; and when she was at last about to put out her light, she took out the picture of her ancestress and looked at it.
"She counted not her life dear to herself," she murmured; "she laid down all, far more than life, for his sake. Oh, what shall I do? What ought I to do? Oh, make thy way plain before my face, and teach me how to walk therein."
For a day or two, Therese continued silent and preoccupied, and Mrs. Tremaine saw that she had something on her mind. At last she preferred a petition:
"Please, Mrs. Tremaine, may I go out this afternoon? I want to walk up to mother's old house."
Mrs. Tremaine hesitated.
"I will not be gone long," said Therese.
"It is not that," said Mrs. Tremaine, and then added, smiling: "The truth is, Therese, I believe I have a kind of terror of the place."
"I don't think there is any danger," said Therese.
"No, I presume not, and it is natural you should wish to see it again. Yes, you may go, but do not be away very long, or, reasonable or not, I shall be uneasy about you."