“‘Raby,’ I said at last, rather timidly, ‘I wish you would walk a little slower, I want to talk to you;’ and then he looked at me with some surprise.
“‘I was only thinking of my next Sunday’s sermon,’ he replied, as if in apology for his want of attention. ‘I told you you had better not come with me, Crystal.’
“‘Oh, I know you did not want me,’ I answered, lightly; ‘your manner made that fact very apparent; but you see I wanted to come, and so I had my own way. Of course I know the text you will choose, Raby. What a pity that it is too far for me to come and hear that sermon. To think that neither Margaret nor I have ever heard you preach, and to lose that sermon of all others.’
“‘What do you mean?’ he answered, rather irritably, for my gay mood was clashing with his somber one.
“‘Oh, the text will be, “Vanity of vanities, saith the preacher. All is vanity;” that will be your subject, Raby, will it not?’
“He turned round at that, and a smile dispelled his gravity; and then he took my hand and put it on his arm, and held it gently there.
“‘I think you have guessed my thoughts, Crystal,’ he said, quietly, ‘but not all of them. Do you know I have been thinking as we came along that you and I, dear child, have reached the cross-roads of life at last, where each must choose his or her path, and go on their way alone.’
“‘Oh, Raby,’ I exclaimed in some distress as I pressed closer to him; ‘what can you mean by saying anything so dreadful. I hope your path and mine will always be the same.’
“‘My dear,’ he returned, gently—very gently; but there was pain and some strange solemn meaning in his face—‘I disappointed you last night. You thought that I would not praise your finery or stoop to flatter your innocent vanity, that I held myself aloof from your girlish pleasure. Ah,’ with a sudden change of tone, ‘you little know what brilliant vision haunted me last night and drove sleep from my eyes; how it lured and tempted me from my sense of right; but God had mercy on His poor priest, and strengthened his hands in the day of battle.’
“The white abstracted look of his face, the low vehemence of his tone, thrilled me almost painfully; never had Raby looked or spoken like that.