"I thought it was very interesting," said Marion. "I am glad Harry is going to be a minister. I am sure he will make a good one."
"Yes, we all think so," said Bram. "He has had a bent that way ever since he was a little fellow."
"Why don't you ever take part in the meetings down in the chapel?" asked Marion, presently.
"Oh, because—Well, there are plenty of older people, you know, and I don't seem to be needed, so I would rather keep still and listen. But it was different to-night, and I felt so sorry for poor Clarke. But why didn't you, if it comes to that? You didn't even sing."
"I couldn't," answered Marion, shortly. "I didn't seem to have any voice, or any heart, either," she added, presently. "I seemed to feel as if I was outside of the whole concern, as if I had no business there—as if—" Marion's voice was choked and died away.
"Well, as if what, Marie dear?" asked Bram, gently. "Don't tell me if you don't want to, but perhaps you might feel better if you did. Say out what is in your mind."
"I felt as if there was somebody present that every one saw and I was trying to see and hear, but couldn't," said Marion, at last. "I can't express it any better than that."
"I understand," said Bram.
"Bram, tell me one thing," said Marion, "and please don't be affronted or think I mean to be unkind: when you made that prayer, were you thinking of how it sounded or what people would think about it?"
"No, not after the first minute," said Bram. "I was just a little scared at the sound of my own voice at first, but not afterward."