"People are quite accustomed to see me there, dear mother, at least all the people who will see me to-night; and if ever I needed help I do just now."
"I should think it would be much more appropriate to stay at home and find help in the society of your own family. That is the way other people do who are in affliction."
Mrs. Ried had the benefit of a full, steady look from Abbie's great solemn eyes now, as she said:
"Mother, I want God's help. No other will do me any good."
"Well," answered Mrs. Ried, after just a moment of rather awe-struck silence, "can't you find that help any where but in that plain, common little meeting-house? I thought people with your peculiar views believed that God was every-where."
An expression not unlike that of a hunted deer shone for a moment in
Abbie's eyes. Then she spoke, in tones almost despairing:
"O mother, mother, you can not understand."
Tone, or words, or both, vexed Mrs. Ried afresh, and she spoke with added sharpness.
"At least I can understand this much, that my daughter is very anxious to do a thing utterly unheard of in its propriety, and I am thoroughly ashamed of you. If I were Ester I should not like to uphold you in such a singularly conspicuous parade. Remember, you have no one now but John to depend upon as an escort."
Ralph had remained a silent, immovable listener to this strange, sad conversation up to this moment. Now he came suddenly forward with a quick, firm tread, and encircled Abbie's trembling form with his arm, while with eyes and voice he addressed his mother.