“Something in her recalls my Margaret,” thought the lady; “but Margaret was more serious. How is it that they all seem to have been so near me to-day? All my dead children who have left me—I am so glad I went to church. I have not felt so near them all for years. I could almost fancy that young man knew something of my sorrows, his glance rested on me once or twice with such sympathy. How beautiful and how strengthening were his words! Yes—we are not really separated—I am content to wait while God has work for me to do here. And I am glad I am rich when I feel how many I can help. God bless that preacher, whoever he is, for the strength and comfort he has given me to-day.”
Mildred in her place sat quietly waiting till the congregation had dispersed. Then she rose and went forward to speak to the verger.
“Will you tell the clergyman,” she said, “Mr Lyle is his name—that I hope he will return with me to the rectory to luncheon. I will wait here till he comes out.”
The man went with her message. But in a moment or two he reappeared looking somewhat surprised.
“He has gone, ma’am,” he said. “I can’t make out how he went off so quickly. No one seems to have seen him.”
“He must have hurried off at once. No doubt I shall find him at home,” she said, feeling nevertheless a little disappointed. She had looked forward to the few minutes’ talk with the preacher who had so impressed her; she would have liked to thank him without delay.
“I shall feel too shy to say it to him before Reginald, I am afraid,” she thought. “I am a little surprised he did not tell me more of this Mr Lyle.”
And she set off eagerly to return home. At the church door she almost ran against one of the curates, an honest and hard-working, but dictatorial young man, with whom she did not feel much sympathy. He accompanied her a few steps down the street.
“And how did you like the sermon?” he said.
Mildred replied by repeating his own question, hoping thus to escape a discussion she felt sure would not be to her mind.