During her stay at the parsonage she had not attended service in the church, because Mr. Hammond was lonely, and her Sabbaths were spent in reading to him. But her old associates in the choir insisted that, before she returned to New York, she should sing with them once more.
Thus far she had declined all invitations; but on the morning of the last day of her visit, the organist called to say that a distinguished divine, from a distant State, would fill Mr. Hammond's pulpit; and as the best and leading soprano in the choir was disabled by severe cold, and could not be present, he begged that Edna would take her place, and sing a certain solo in the music which he had selected for an opening piece. Mr. Hammond, who was pardonably proud of his choir, was anxious that the stranger should be greeted and inspired by fine music, and urged Edna's compliance with the request.
Reluctantly she consented, and for the first time Duty and Love seemed to signal a truce, to shake hands over the preliminaries of a treaty for peace.
As she passed through the churchyard and walked up the steps, where a group of Sabbath-school children sat talking, her eyes involuntarily sought the dull brown spot on the marble.
Over it little Herbert Inge had spread his white handkerchief, and piled thereon his Testament and catechism, laying on the last one of those gilt-bordered and handsome pictorial cards, containing a verse from the Scriptures, which are frequently distributed by Sabbath- school teachers.
Edna stooped and looked at the picture covering the blood-stain. It represented our Saviour on the Mount, delivering the sermon, and in golden letters were printed his words: "Judge not, that ye be not judged. For with what judgment ye judge, ye shall be judged; and with what measure ye mete, it shall be measured to you again."
The eyes of the Divine Preacher seemed to look into hers, and the outstretched hand to point directly at her.
She trembled, and hastily kissing the sweet red lips which little Herbert held up to her, she went in, and up to the gallery.
The congregation assembled slowly, and as almost all the faces were familiar to Edna, each arrival revived something of the past. Here the flashing silk flounces of a young belle brushed the straight black folds of widow's weeds; on the back of one seat was stretched the rough brown hand of a poor laboring man; on the next lay the dainty fingers of a matron of wealth and fashion, who had entirely forgotten to draw a glove over her sparkling diamonds.