John Ward, Preacher | Page 9

one promise, will you?"
She hesitated. "If I can, Giff;" and then, with sudden trustfulness, she
added, "Yes, I will. What is it?"

She had risen, and was standing on the step above him. He looked at
her nervous little hands a moment, but did not touch them, and then he
said, "If the time ever comes when you can love me, tell me so. I ask
you this, Lois, because I cannot bear to distress you again by speaking
words of love you do not want to hear, and yet I can't help hoping; and
I shall always love you, but it shall be in silence. So if the day ever
does come when you can love me, promise to tell me."
"Oh, yes," she said, glad to grant something. "But, Gifford, dear, it will
never come; I must say that now."
"But you promise?"
"Yes," she answered, soberly. "I promise."
He looked at her steadily a moment. "God bless you, dear," he said.
"Oh, Gifford!" cried the girl, and with a sudden impulse she stooped
and kissed his forehead; then, half frightened at what she had done, but
not yet regretting it, she brushed past him, and went swiftly up the path
to the rectory.
The young man stood quite still a moment, with reverent head bent as
though he had received a benediction, and then turned and followed
her.
CHAPTER III.
Lois Howe's mind was in a strange tumult that night; the subtile thrill,
which is neither pain nor pride, and yet seems both, with which a
young woman hears for the first time that she is loved, stung through
all her consciousness of grief at having wounded her old friend. Tears
came into her eyes once, and yet she did not know why; perhaps it was
anger. How could Gifford have been so foolish as to talk that way, and
make her have to say what she did? The old friendship was what she
wanted. And then more tears came; and for the first time in her simple
girlish life, Lois could not understand her own heart.

It was because Helen had gone away, she said to herself, and she was
tired; and that gave her the right to cry with all her heart, which was a
great relief.
But Lois was young. The next morning, when she pushed back her
windows, she felt joy bubble up in her soul as unrestrainedly as though
she had never said a word to Gifford which could make his heart ache.
The resistance and spring of the climbing roses made her lean out to
fasten her lattices back, and a shower of dew sprinkled her hair and
bosom; and at the sudden clear song of the robin under the eaves, she
stood breathless a moment to listen, with that simple gladness of living
which is perhaps a supreme unselfishness in its entire unconsciousness
of individual joy.
But like the rest of the world, Lois found that such moments do not last;
the remembrance of the night before forced itself upon her, and she
turned to go down-stairs, with a troubled face.
Of course there is plenty to do the day after a wedding, and Lois was
glad to have the occupation; it was a relief to be busy.
Ashurst ladies always washed the breakfast things themselves; no
length of service made it seem proper to trust the old blue china and the
delicate glass to the servants. So Lois wiped her cups and saucers, and
then, standing on a chair in the china-closet, put the dessert plates with
the fine gilt pattern borders, which had been used yesterday, on the
very back of the top shelf, in such a quick, decided way Jean trembled
for their safety.
The rectory dining-room was low-studded, and lighted by one wide
latticed window, which had a cushioned seat, with a full valance of
flowered chintz; the dimity curtains were always pushed back, for Dr.
Howe was fond of sunshine. In the open fireplace, between the brasses,
stood a blue jug filled with white lilacs, and the big punch-bowl on the
sideboard was crowded with roses. There were antlers over the doors,
and the pictures on the walls were of game and fish, and on the floor
was a bear-skin, which was one of the rector's trophies.

Lois stood by a side-table which held a great pan of hot water; she had
a long-handled mop in her hand and a soft towel over her arm, and she
washed and wiped some wine-glasses with slender twisted stems and
sparkling bowls, and then put them on their shelves in the corner closet,
where they gleamed and glittered in the sunshine, pouring through the
open window.
She did not work as fast now, for things were nearly in order, and