"To meet you was an event in my life!" she said, turning. towards him a little, and laying her hand timidly on his coat sleeve—"It was really!"
He looked at her,—and a wave of warmth passed over his face.
"Was it?" he murmured.
"Of course it was!" she declared,—and almost she laughed—"You won't understand me, I daresay!—but to meet you. for the first time is a kind of event to most people! They begin to think about you,— they can't help it! You are so different from the ordinary sort of clergyman,—I don't know how or why,—but you are!"
He smiled a trifle sadly.
"Talk of yourself, not of me,"—he said, uneasily.
"Yes, but I cannot very well talk of myself now without bringing you into it,"—she insisted,—"And you must let me tell my story in my own way!"
He shaded his eyes again from the firelight, and listened.
"After I met you that morning," she went on—"I heard many things about you in the village. Everyone seemed to love you!—yes, even the tiniest children! The poor people, the old and the sick, all seemed to trust you as their truest and best friend! And when I knew all this I began to think very earnestly about the religious faith which seemed to make you what you are. I didn't go to church to hear you preach—you know that!—I only went once—and I was late—you remember?—So it has not been anything you have said in the pulpit that has changed me so much. It is just YOU, yourself! It is because you live your life as you do that I want to learn to live the rest of mine just a little bit like it, even though I am crippled and more or less useless. You will teach me, won't you? I want to have your faith—your goodness—-"
He interrupted her.