Alfaretta, peering out of her attic window, and wiping her eyes on the corner of the dimity curtain which hid her, saw the elder walk out of the parsonage and through the little gateway, with shame written on his drooping shoulders and in his hurried, shambling steps. He never once looked back.
CHAPTER XVII.
Almost before Elder Dean had left the threshold Helen stood at the bolted door. She turned the knob gently while she knocked.
"John," she said anxiously,—"John, dear!" But there was no answer.
"John!" she said again, a thread of fear in her voice. "What is the matter? Are you ill, dearest? Please let me in!"
Only the rustle of the wind outside and the flickering shadows across the hall answered her. She shook the door slightly, and then listened. "John, John!" she called again, and as she heard a long breath inside the closed room she leaned against the wall, faint with a fright she had not realized. She heard a slow footstep upon the floor, that stopped on the other side of the door.
"Helen," her husband said, in a voice she scarcely knew, "I want to be alone. I am not ill, but I must be—undisturbed. Will you go away, please?"
"Let me in just one moment, darling," she pleaded, still nervously turning the knob. "I won't disturb you, but it terrifies me to be shut out in this way. Please let me just see you, and then I will go right away."