While engaged with her pupils Helen found no time for brooding; but when the lessons were over and she was released from all restraint, she could not control her thoughts, and the fear and unrest of the previous week assailed her again.
The second day of Dorothy's absence, which was the Sabbath, she felt that she could no longer bear the loneliness and silence, which were intensified and made hideous by haunting memories of her unhappy past; and she now deeply regretted that she had not heeded Mrs. Alexander's plea that she would at least join their house party for over Sunday. She was half tempted even now to take an early boat and go to them, just for the day; but, having once definitely refused the invitation, she did not like to retract; but do something, go somewhere, she must to distract her mind; she could not spend that long day alone with her wretched thoughts.
She mechanically dressed herself for the street, and, boarding an uptown car, finally alighted near one of the entrances to Central Park.
As she stepped upon the sidewalk her attention was attracted by a stream of well-dressed people that were pouring into a great church not a stone's throw beyond where she stood.
Almost unconsciously she mingled with the crowd, passing with it into the beautiful temple, and up into the great auditorium, where the mellow sunlight, streaming in through the richly tinted windows, seemed to fall upon the gathering hundreds like a sacred, soothing benediction; while the wonderful organ, responding to the touch of skillful hands, rolled forth its paean of joyous greeting.
A gentlemanly usher approached and offered to give her a seat, leading her almost to the center of the house, where, thanking him for his courtesy, she dropped into a luxuriously cushioned pew, wondering, with a sense akin to dismay, what occult influences could have combined to guide her wandering feet thither, instead of into the park, for which she had started.
Presently she began to look about the elegantly appointed edifice, noting its softly tinted walls and beautiful windows; its rich and massive woodwork, its costly carpeting and upholstery.
Then her glance swept over the congregation, and she found herself mentally exclaiming, with a pang of keen pain piercing her heart: "What a multitude of happy, peaceful faces! Where did they come from? What is the secret of their joy?"
Presently the organ ceased, and the opening hymn was announced—an old, familiar tune, and lines that her mother had once loved to sing:
In heav'nly love abiding,
No change my heart shall fear.