A Singular Metamorphosis

by May Evelyn Skiles

It was in the evening when our friends were assembled in the little church of which Mr. Bayne was the rector. Adelina and Ralph were ushered in first, then came Miss Tracy and a stranger, not her brother, as was taken note of by the wondering congregation; in fact, Mr. Tracy had taken a seat in the rear of the church, and had permitted this stranger to monopolize his sister. Such a thing had never been known to occur, in the recollection of the Deanmouth people; but as the service had already commenced, surely that fact ought not to have been taken cognizance of, nor ought the congregation to have been diverted from the lesson Mr. Bayne was proceeding to read. The two were utterly oblivious of the intense interest they were creating. Had Dr. Ellis noticed the movements betokening restlessness, proofs of inattentiveness, he would not for a moment have thought that he, a perfect stranger, was eliciting such interest; and yet it was for that very reason that such was the case.

But soon there was not one in the congregation that was not all attention, hanging upon each word of the minister's with breathless interest, and impatiently awaiting the next. It was an address, not a sermon, and Mr. Bayne had entitled it "The Sea of Misunderstanding." How that struck home to five of his auditors! Yet Mr. Bayne was ignorant of the circumstances which were so vividly recalled to some of his hearers by his words. Strange to say, not one of the friends so much as glanced at any of the others, but each knew what was going on in the minds of the others. Had the minister himself ever misjudged any one? I think not; yet why should he dwell at such length upon this subject, and so judiciously interweave the text from whence had arisen his ideas? That earnest air, that placid face, seemed to bear conviction to those who heard, and it might not be going too far to say that such might have been the case had he been conversing in a foreign tongue. I say "conversing," because it always seemed to his auditors that he was only talking to them just as he would if he had not been occupying the pulpit. That is why his manner and the dulcet tones of his voice had in them alone a certain inexplicable power to produce conviction, even though the purport of the words had been misinterpreted; not that he made use of abstruse statements to display his own acumen, as some speakers obviously do, for he sought only to convey in the simplest manner to others the truths he had already ascertained. His mission was being fulfilled.

All who had attended the service were very quiet on their return home. Perhaps Adelina and Ralph found more to say than any of the others.

Two months later they were on board a steamer bound for Liverpool. They were on the deck, and Adelina had produced a letter from Mary, for about the fifth time. She was reading it to her husband, and both were enjoying its contents as though ignorant of what had already been laughed over and discussed a score of times. Ralph was infinitely amused to find that Adelina was not even looking at what she was supposed to be reading—to tell the truth, she knew from memory all that Mary had written.

"How many times has she mentioned Dr. Ellis?" asked Ralph.

"One, two, three," counted Adelina, "four—oh, do you remember Tom Burnett?" she said, breaking off, and losing count, as her eyes caught the young man's name. That part she had not read to Ralph before.

"Yes, I remember him, but what has Mary said about him? I thought some one else took up her whole attention—and letter."

"Oh, it is only some of her foolishness. Tom is much interested in Lucy Malcolm."

"But that is not all," pursued Ralph, seeing that she was keeping something back.

"You provoking boy." Her looks belied her words. "If you must know, Mary only said he was consoling himself with Lucy."