"yes, 'great and marvellous are Thy works, Lord God Almighty;
just and true are Thy ways, Thou King of Saints!'" And what
more marvellous work than this wonder of his own salvation?
Brought here against his will, against his judgment!
How he had struggled against the Spirit. He was humbled to
the earth at the remembrance of it; "if I had my way, we wouldn't
have walked up the hill from the station that morning!" . . .

The flushing heavens faded into ashes, but the solemn glow
of half-astonished gratitude lingered on his face.

"Lewis," some one said in the darkness of the lane--"LEWIS!" Athalia came
up the path swiftly and put her hands on his arm. "Lewis, I--I want
to go home." She sobbed as she spoke.

He started as if she had struck him.

"Lewis, Lewis, let us go home!"

The flame of mystical satisfaction went out of his face as a lighted
candle goes out in the wind.

"There isn't any home now, Athalia," he said, with a sombre look;
"there's only a house. Come in," he added, heavily; "we must
talk this out."

She followed him, and for a moment they neither of them spoke;
he fumbled about in the warm darkness for a match, and lifting the shade,
lighted the lamp on the table; then he looked at her. "Athalia," he said,
in a terrified voice, "I am--_I am a Shaker!_"