It is Sunday morning, a bright, beautiful, peaceful Sabbath. The pretty church is warm and comfortable. The sunlight, creeping in through the gaily painted stained glass windows, tinge those sitting in its brilliant rays, with every vivid hue of the rainbow. The service has begun when Mr. Vacine enters, and with him a tall, pleasant looking young fellow, who, as he takes his seat, looks eagerly up to the choir. Dolores, sitting up there in her own special corner, starts and looks a second time at the stranger, who is regarding her fixedly.
"How in the name of sense has Ned Crane come here? And with Mr. Vacine, too—Mr. Vacine, who never entertains, from one year's end to the other." This is what Dolores is saying in her mind. "And then just look at Mr. Vacine's face. How wonderfully happy he looks; surely something very unusual has happened that Mr. Vacine should wear such a very beatific expression." A little boy in the next seat dropped his cent on the floor, then he looked at the elderly gentleman and by him in awe; all the small children stood in great dread of old Mr. Vacine. The child expected either a stern look of disapproval, or else a poke from Mr. Vacine's gold-headed cane. Contrary to the youngster's expectations, he saw Mr. Vacine actually smiling at him—smiling after he had let his cent drop on the floor with such a click. The little boy was so astonished that he was quiet during the remainder of the service. Dolores has only arrived home this morning from her visit to Blondine. She had got ready as soon as she arrived, and gone to morning service, for the parson was anxious that she should take her place again in the choir. She has not seen Sister Jean yet, and Dolores is very anxious to do so. Zoe, from her high seat at the organ, is "taking in" the young man with Mr. Vacine. He is quite nice in Zoe's sight, and the youngest Miss Litchfield listens to the sermon and determines that she thinks she will like him very much. At the door, Mr. Vacine invites Zoe and her sister up to take dinner. Dolores demurs, but Zoe says promptly, "Of course they will;" so Dolores goes. Over the prettily arranged dinner table Mr. Vacine tells the two astonished girls all about the dear nephew who had left his uncle's home in a passion, vowing never to return. But something happened that made him feel remorseful for having deserted the kind old uncle, who had always been as a father to him. So the prodigal had returned, and Mr. Vacine cannot disguise his gladness.
"I never imagined we should meet here, Ned," Dolores says, as they saunter through the warm, pleasant drawing-rooms.
Zoe has gone up stairs to play some hymns for Mr. Vacine; in the cosy music room.
"It is queer now, when you think of it, and, by jove, what an awfully pretty girl your sister is," Ned says. He has always admired Dolores immensely, but Zoe—Zoe was so entirely different. In fact Ned is sure he will grow to be awfully fond of Mr. Litchfield's pretty wilful daughter Zoe.
The sun shines brightly on the clear, white, glistening road, covered with snow; the icicles glitter in the limbs of the leafless trees like crystal; everything is bright, cold, and sparkling. The bells are ringing for Sunday-school, and the little and big children troop along in response to the bell's call.
"I was awfully glad you found your mother. How was it you did not know where she was before?" Ned asks, as they stand at the window, watching the passers by.
Dolores silently contemplates the gold fish swimming around and around in the huge glass globe.
"She said a feeling she could not resist, made her think it her duty to leave home and found a safe, calm retreat, by which much good could be done for the sick, poor or suffering, of a large city like Montreal. She knew aunt Adeline would take excellent care of the house, and my sister and I, so she went. You know the rest, how she has instituted a convent, that all declare had done more good than any other institution of a like kind. Now she has consented to give up the name of Mother St. Marguerite, and come back to us all at home. You cannot fancy, Ned, how too good it seems, after all those years, to have my mother again. Just think of Rea Severn taking mother's place. What strange things happen."
"I guess she felt pretty cut up about Gordon Aubrey's marriage," Ned says, his heart beginning to beat, as light footsteps are heard running down stairs, and a clear girlish voice calling Dolores' name.