"You saw me once before that, and smiled at me."

Gabriella seemed incredulous and not well pleased.

After a little while David began in the manner of one who sets out
to tell a story he is secretly fond of.

"Do you remember standing on the steps of a church the Friday
evening before Christmas--a little after dark?"

Gabriella's eyes began to express remembrance. "A wagon-load of
cedar had just been thrown out on the sidewalk, the sexton was
carrying it into the church, some children were helping, you were
making a wreath: do you remember?"

She knew every word of this.

"A young man--a Bible student--passed, or tried to pass. You
smiled at his difficulty. Not unkindly," he added, smiling not
unkindly himself.

"And that was you? This explains why I have always believed I had
seen you before. But it was only for a moment, your face was in the
dark; how should I remember?"

After she said this, she looked grave: his face that night had been
far from a happy one.

"That day," continued David, quickly grave also, "that day I saw my