Tears filled Aurelia's eyes, and she could only murmur something
about being very glad.

"Yes," pursued Dr. Godfrey, "it is as if I saw him rising from his
living tomb in all senses of the word. I find that your artless
Sunday evening conversations have even penetrated the inner hopeless
gloom, still more grievous than the outer darkness in which he lived."

"Indeed, sir, I never meant to be presumptuous."

"God's blessing on such presumption, my good child! If you had been
fully aware of his state of mind, you might never have ventured nor
have touched the sealed heart, as you have done, as I perceive, in
your ignorance, out of your obedient reverence to the Lord's day.
Am I not right?"

"Yes, sir, I thought one _could_ not repeat plays and poems on Sunday,
and I was frightened when I found those other things were strange to
him; but he bade me go on."

"For the sake of the music of your voice, as he tells me, at first;
but afterwards because you became the messenger of hope to one who
had long lain in the shadow of death, thinking pardon and mercy too
much out of reach to be sought for. You have awakened prayer within
him once more."

She could not speak, and Dr. Godfrey continued, "You will be glad to
hear that I am to see the curate on my way through Brentford, and
arrange with him at times to read prayers in the outer room. What
is it?" he added; "you look somewhat doubtful."