"Do you feel very tired indeed to-night, Mr. Linden?"
"Not very—now," he said smiling. "I have been resting. I was a little more tired than usual when I came home."
Slowly and deliberately she came round behind his chair and stood leaning upon the back of it.
"Mr. Linden—I want to ask you something."
The tone was low and peculiar. It was a very common thing for her to be more or less moved by a little timidity; but now plainly Faith was afraid. It changed her voice, beyond the slight sweet touch that timidity often gave it.
"You know I like to have you, Miss Faith."
"I wanted to ask—if you would like,—or if you wouldn't dislike—if you would have any objection, to read and pray at night—here, with us,—and let Cindy and Mr. Skip come in?"
"I will, certainly," Mr. Linden said: "how could I have any objection? Miss Faith—will you please to come round here and sit down?—Why are you so much afraid of me?" She did not leave her position.
"I didn't know whether you would like it," she said in a very low voice. "I asked mother to ask you, but she wouldn't—though she said she would like to have you do it. I wanted it particularly for mother's sake."—The last words were said little above a whisper.
"I don't see where the fear came from, yet."