A short prayer from Bosher closed the meeting, and now the reason for the presence of the two poverty-stricken-looking shabbily dressed disciples was made manifest, for while the better dressed and therefore more respectable Brothers were shaking hands with and grinning at each other or hovering round the two clergymen and Mr Sweater, these two poor wretches carried away the harmonium and the lantern, together with the hymn books and what remained of the tracts. As Barrington hurried off to catch the train one of the “Followers” gave him a card which he read by the light of a street lamp—
Come and join the Brotherhood
at the Shining Light Chapel
PSA
Every Sunday at 3 o’clock.
Let Brotherly Love Continue.
“Oh come and join this Holy Band
and on to Glory go.”
Barrington thought he would rather go to hell—if there were such a place—with some decent people, than share “glory” with a crew like this.
Nora sat sewing by the fireside in the front room, with the baby asleep in her lap. Owen was reclining in the deck-chair opposite. They had both been rather silent and thoughtful since Barrington’s departure. It was mainly by their efforts that the reconciliation between Easton and Ruth had been effected and they had been so desirous of accomplishing that result that they had not given much thought to their own position.
“I feel that I could not bear to part with her for anything now,” said Nora at last breaking the long silence, “and Frankie is so fond of her too. But all the same I can’t feel happy about it when I think how ill you are.”
“Oh, I shall be all right when the weather gets a little warmer,” said Owen, affecting a cheerfulness he did not feel. “We have always pulled through somehow or other; the poor little thing is not going to make much difference, and she’ll be as well off with us as she would have been if Ruth had not gone back.”
As he spoke he leaned over and touched the hand of the sleeping child and the little fingers closed round one of his with a clutch that sent a thrill all through him. As he looked at this little helpless, dependent creature, he realized with a kind of thankfulness that he would never have the heart to carry out the dreadful project he had sometimes entertained in hours of despondency.
“We’ve always got through somehow or other,” he repeated, “and we’ll do so still.”
Presently they heard Frankie’s footsteps ascending the stairs and a moment afterwards the boy entered the room.
“We have to look out of the window and wave to Mr Barrington when his train goes over the bridge,” he cried breathlessly. “And he’s sent this letter. Open the window, quick, Dad, or it may be too late.”