On the Church Steps | Page 4

and I think she was very grateful to be

spared the expression of feeling. Poor soul! repression had become
such a necessity to her!
So we talked on gravely of the weather, and of the celebrated Doctor
McQ----, who was expected to give us an argumentative sermon that
morning, until my argument came floating in at the door like a calm
little bit of thistledown, to which our previous conversation had been as
the thistle's self.
The plain little church was gay that morning. Carriage after carriage
drove up with much prancing and champing, and group after group of
city folk came rustling along the aisles. It was a bit of Fifth Avenue let
into Lenox calm. The World and the Flesh were there, at least.
In the hush of expectancy that preceded the minister's arrival there was
much waving of scented fans, while the well-bred city glances took in
everything without seeming to see. I felt that Bessie and I were being
mentally discussed and ticketed. And as it was our first appearance at
church since--well, since--perhaps there was just a little consciousness
of our relations that made Bessie seem to retire absolutely within
herself, and be no more a part of the silken crowd than was the grave,
plain man who rose up in the pulpit.
I hope the sermon was satisfactory. I am sure it was convincing to a
brown-handed farmer who sat beside us, and who could with difficulty
restrain his applauding comment. But I was lost in a dream of a near
heaven, and could not follow the spoken word. It was just a quiet little
opportunity to contemplate my darling, to tell over her sweetness and
her charm, and to say over and again, like a blundering school-boy, "It's
all mine! mine!"
The congregation might have been dismissed for aught I knew, and left
me sitting there with her beside me. But I was startled into the
proprieties as we stood up to sing the concluding hymn. I was standing
stock-still beside her, not listening to the words at all, but with a
pleasant sense of everything being very comfortable, and an
old-fashioned swell of harmony on the air, when suddenly the book
dropped from Bessie's hand and fell heavily to the floor. I should have

said she flung it down had it been on any other occasion, so rapid and
vehement was the action.
I stooped to pick it up, when with a decided gesture she stopped me. I
looked at her surprised. Her face was flushed, indignant, I thought, and
instantly my conscience was on the rack. What had I done, for my lady
was evidently angry?
Glancing down once more toward the book, I saw that she had set her
foot upon it, and indeed her whole attitude was one of excitement,
defiance. Why did she look so hot and scornful? I was disturbed and
anxious: what was there in the book or in me to anger her?
As quickly as possible I drew her away from the bustling crowd when
the service was concluded. Fortunately, there was a side-door through
which we could pass out into the quiet churchyard, and we vanished
through it, leaving Mrs. Sloman far behind. Over into the Lebanon road
was but a step, and the little porch was waiting with its cool
honeysuckle shade. But Bessie did not stop at the gate: she was in no
mood for home. And yet she would not answer my outpouring
questions as to whether she was ill, or what was the matter.
"I'll tell you in a minute. Come, hurry!" she said, hastening along up the
hill through all the dust and heat.
At last we reached that rustic bit of ruin known popularly as the
"Shed." It was a hard bit of climbing, but I rejoiced that Bessie, so
flushed and excited at the start, grew calmer as we went; and when, the
summit reached, she sat down to rest on a broken board, her color was
natural and she seemed to breathe freely again.
"Are they all hypocrites, do you think, Charlie?" she said suddenly,
looking up into my face.
"They? who? Bessie, what have I done to make you angry?"
"You? Nothing, dear goose! I am angry at myself and at everybody else.
Did it flash upon you, Charlie, what we were singing?"

Then she quoted the lines, which I will not repeat here, but they
expressed, as the sole aspiration of the singer, a desire to pass eternity
in singing hymns of joy and praise--an impatience for the time to come,
a disregard of earth, a turning away from temporal things, and again the
desire for an eternity of sacred song.
"Suppose I confess to you," said I, astonished at her earnestness, "that I
did not at