The hand was taken, and grasped, cordially but in silence.
Whether the doctor went straight from Mr. Simlins' house to church—where he was not a very constant attendant—it does not appear. What is certain about the matter, is, that he was outside of the church door after service just at the time that Faith Derrick found herself there, and that he assumed a place at her side and walked with her towards her mother's house instead of taking the other direction towards his own. Faith was alone, Mrs. Derrick having chosen to stay at home in case she should be sent for. The mist had cleared off completely, and the sunny warm air invited to lingering in it. Faith would not have lingered, but the doctor walked slowly, and she could not leave him.
"I have been wanting to see you, ever since my inopportune proposal yesterday," said he in a low tone,—"to make my peace with you."
"It is made, sir," said Faith, giving him a smile.
"How do you do to-day?"
"Very well!" she told him.
The doctor listened to the sound of her voice, and thought with himself that as regarded the moral part of her nature the words were certainly true.
"Let me have the pleasure of relieving you of that,"—he said, taking Faith's little Bible gently away from her. "I am going your way. Miss Derrick—you spoke yesterday of particular work to be done on Sunday. Have you any objection to tell me what you meant by it? I confess to you, your words are somewhat dark to me. That is my fault, of course. Will you give me light?" It was a gentle, grave, quiet tone of questioning.
"Others might do it far better, sir," said Faith.
"I would far rather hear it from you!"