Marielle grumbled a little, not unnaturally, as it would necessitate her breaking a promise she had made to accompany her mother and Mrs. Duncan in a walk to the High Park at that hour. But the pupil was one whom it would not do to offend, so she wired back that she would give the lesson, and persuaded her mother not to give up the walk on that account, but to go notwithstanding her own absence.
“You will get your walk just the same, mother darling, won’t you? For I know Mrs. Duncan would be greatly disappointed if you did not go. It would seem as if you only cared to go when I was with you, and that would never do!”
Mrs. Heritage gave the required promise, and duly set forth at the time appointed.
The lesson over, Marielle glanced at her watch. It wanted five-and-twenty minutes to six.
“I know what I will do,” she said to herself as she closed the piano and drew on her gloves. “I’ll take a Roxton Road tram, and get out at the park gates. I am sure to find mother and Mrs. Duncan in the Rose-walk, they always gravitate in that direction”—smiling, as she pictured their surprise at her unexpected appearance. “I wonder I did not think of it before. I shall be in time to walk home with them in any case, if only I do not have to wait long for my tram!”
Good fortune awaited her in this respect, and the hands of the clock in the park tower were pointing to six as she sped along towards the Rose-walk. Presently she descried the two ladies she sought sitting together on a bench, but they were evidently far too much occupied with one another to take any heed of Marielle’s approach, if, indeed, they heard her footsteps on the grass. No one else was in sight, and the girl drew nearer until when within a few yards, her mother looked up and saw her.
“Why, Marielle darling, what a pleasure!” Mrs. Heritage exclaimed, but her voice sounded tremulous, and Marielle, coming closer still, scrutinised the faces of the two friends. The eyes of both were full of tears, which, as the girl gazed, overflowed. Not a little alarmed, she hurriedly asked what was the matter.
“Come and sit here between us, dear, and you shall know,” answered Mrs. Duncan for them both, smiling and making room on the bench beside her.
Puzzled, and it must be confessed, extremely curious, Marielle did as she was requested, and Mrs. Duncan began:
“I have just been telling your dear mother, Marielle, what it has often before been my wish to make known to her; but one naturally feels a little shy about speaking of such matters until sufficiently intimate with anyone to warrant doing so. What I had to tell was simply this, that under God, to you, dear girl, I owe the greatest happiness of my life. Your singing at St. Jude’s on the last Sunday in Lent, of ‘There is a green hill,’ was the means of opening my dear husband’s eyes to his need of a Saviour, and he has been a changed man ever since. Not that he was ever anything but good, kind, and true, but his belief was not a living faith, and his soul might be said to have been almost dead within him. Now all is different, and John and I, who had been at one upon every other point except religion, are now at one upon that too. I repeat that I have to thank you, dear girl, for the greatest happiness of my life, under God,” and taking Marielle’s hand in hers, Margaret Duncan pressed it affectionately.