"I can pray for him, mamma," said Therese, softly. "Grandmother Duval said once that wherever he had wandered, he could not go out of God's sight, and therefore he could not go out of the reach of his children's prayers. Oh, mother, I wish you would go to see her sometimes. Why don't you?"
"She does not want to see me, child."
"Indeed, dear mother, she does," said Therese, eagerly. "She always asks so many questions about you when I go to see her, and she always prays for you morning and evening. Oh, if you would only go, you would see."
Mrs. Beaubien shook her head:
"No, no, Therese; I shall never set foot in Holford village again; but when you go to see my mother, tell her I wish I had been a better daughter to her, and ask her to give me her blessing and her prayers; and be you a kind and dutiful child to her, for she was always the best of mothers to me."
"Yes, dear mother," said Therese, inwardly rejoiced at even this symptom of relenting, and at once beginning to build various castles in the air as to the possibility of bringing her grandmother and her mother together once more.
"And then mother and grandmother will live together in the village, and mother will go to church. Oh, it will be lovely."
Sunday morning came, and with it an end of Therese's visit.
"I think you had better set out for the village as soon as you have done your breakfast," said Mrs. Beaubien. "I don't like to have you miss your Sunday school; and besides, if you stay till afternoon, you may not be able to go at all, for I think we shall have a storm. And, Therese, if you don't mind—if you can leave me part of that money—"
"I will leave you all of it, dear mother. Perhaps you are right about the storm," said Therese, peering out of the window. "I can see every tree and bush on old Haystack."