church and to the word of the preacher; he saw her succeed for a few
minutes at a time, and then with a lover's keen eye he saw her heart
fly away in a moment from prayer and praise and consolation, and
follow and overtake the ship that was carrying her George farther and
farther away from her across the sea; and then her lips quivered with
earthly sorrow even as she repeated words that came from Heaven, and
tried to bind to her heavy heart the prayers for succor in every
mortal ill, the promises of help in every mortal woe, with which holy
Church and holier Writ comfort her and all the pure of heart in every
age.

Then Meadows, who up to this moment had been pitying himself, had a
better thought and pitied Susan. He even went so far as to feel that
he ought to pity George, but he did not do it; he could not, he envied
him too much; but he pitied Susan, and he longed to say something kind
and friendly to her, even though there should not be a word or a look
of love in it.

Susan went out by one of the church doors, Meadows by another,
intending to meet her casually upon the road home. Susan saw his
intention and took another path, so that he could not come up with her
without following her.

Meadows turned upon his heel and went home with his heart full of
bitterness.

"She hates the sight of me," was his interpretation.

Poor Susan, she hated nobody, she only hated to have to speak to a
stranger, and to listen to a stranger; and in her present grief all