The Girls of St. Olave's Part 6

But she herself must start for the station almost immediately, and the Service of Song was not till eight o'clock. She must leave the couple behind her, and then if Gertrude changed her mind again and stayed at home after all, what _would_ Mrs. Henchman think when she came downstairs and found them amusing themselves over the drawing-room fire?

Somehow since she came to Whitecliff, Denys had felt bewildered and out of touch with G.o.d, and had forgotten her usual habit of praying about the little everyday worries and perplexities; but now suddenly, fresh from the walk under the moonlit trees which had reminded her of Gethsemane, as she stood with the teapot in her hand, she bethought her of the words, "G.o.d is our refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble," and with the remembrance of Him, came the suggestion of what she had better do.

She would run up and say good-bye to Mrs. Henchman and tell her what they were all planning for the evening, and then the responsibility would be no longer on her shoulders.

And even as she decided this, Cecil looked up from a perusal of Audrey's concert ticket.

"If neither of you want this ticket," he said, "I think I will take it. I would like to hear Audrey play, and she will feel it dull if there is n.o.body there that she knows."

Denys looked up gratefully.

"Oh, I am so glad!" she said. "I was afraid she would be very disappointed to see no one. That is really kind."

Gertrude pouted openly.

"Look here, Denys!" she said, "mind you and Charlie look out for me!"

That little touch of G.o.d's hand had made all the difference to Denys.

"All right," she said cheerfully, "we will do our best."

She ran lightly upstairs and knocked softly at Mrs. Henchman's door.

She found Mrs. Henchman lying on her sofa beside a bright little fire, and after telling her their plans, she bent down and kissed her affectionately.

"Shall you be lonely with us all out?" she asked solicitously.

"I daresay I shall be all right, my dear," Mrs. Henchman replied, a little grudgingly. This weakness which had come upon her in the last few months was a sore trial--not an accepted trial--under which she chafed and fretted day by day.

Denys longed to be able to say, "I will gladly stay and keep you company," but then Charlie had arranged this evening's engagement and she knew Mrs. Henchman would not allow it to be altered.

Instead, she said, "Will Mary come up, and see if you want anything?"

"I really can't say, my dear. Mary is a funny person. Run along now or you will be late for Charlie."

Denys left her, but as she pa.s.sed down the stairs she saw the kitchen door ajar, and with a sudden impulse she tapped at it.

"Mary!" she said, "we are all going out. You will take care of Mrs.

Henchman, won't you?"

"Well, Miss!" Mary's tone and face were indignant. "I always _do_ take care of Mrs. Henchman."

Denys retreated.

"Oh, dear!" she said to herself as she closed the front door behind her. "I am afraid I have made a mistake."

CHAPTER VII.

HEIGHTS AND DEPTHS.

It seemed to Denys as if she had never felt so absolutely happy, so blissfully content, as she did when with Charlie's arm tucked into hers, they left the station together and made their way down the steep hill to the church.

All the worries of the day and the worries of the yesterdays had slipped from her, and not even the thought of Gertrude, awaiting them in the church porch, had power to disturb her.

Charlie and she were together, and before them stretched the days, the hours, the minutes, the seconds of a whole week! A whole, long, lovely week, of which only five minutes had already gone! Charlie's voice, his dear, familiar voice, though it only spoke of the trivialities of his journey, seemed like music to her. She did not know how her heart had hungered for him, till she felt how satisfied she was now in his presence.

They reached the church before she thought it possible; Gertrude was not in the porch, and Denys paused a moment in the doorway and glanced about for her. Yes! there she was, some distance down the aisle, comfortably ensconced between Mrs. Henchman's medical man, Dr. Wyatt, and his sister, and as Denys descried her, she turned her pretty face to answer some remark of the doctor's and caught sight of Denys and Charlie, and her smile and shake of the head were easily translated.

"She is not going to sit with us," said Charlie, "so _that's_ all right."

It was nearly eight o'clock, and Denys, full of her happy thoughts, let her eyes wander round the church, noting its pillars, its high arched roof, its electric lights, and the ever-increasing crowd which moved softly up the aisle till every seat that she could see was occupied.

And then came the choir. She watched their faces eagerly. Would she recognise Billy Burr? And which was d.i.c.kie Lowe? Ah! those two must be the golden-haired twins about whom Mr. Owen had told her and Charlie three years ago, now no longer the foremost in the little procession, but as unknowable apart as ever, as they preceded the tenors. And there, behind all, was Mr. Owen's familiar face! Denys knelt with all the congregation, waiting and longing to hear his deep, strong voice in the collects which began the service. But it was a curate who read the prayers, and the words pa.s.sed unheeded over Denys's head, for her heart was back in Saltmarsh among the days when she had first known Mr. Owen and Charlie.

So the music began and a voice rose plaintively--

"And they came to a place called Gethsemane."

The words came into the midst of Denys's wandering thoughts with a startling suddenness. She saw again the darkness gathering under the trees, the black shadows of the bushes and the Easter moon above!

"Could ye not watch with Me one brief hour?"

How the voice rang down the church!

What had she come there for?

To think of Charlie--of her happiness? She could have stayed at home to do that.

Was it for the music she had come? No, for mere music she would not have come out on this first evening of Charlie's return.

For what had she come then?

"Could ye not watch with Me one brief hour?"

The tender words stole down into the depths of her heart and stirred it to a tenderness that she had never felt for her Saviour before. She seemed, as the organ sounded out the Processional to Calvary, to be one of the crowd gathering round the lonely figure in the Via Dolorosa, and to be pa.s.sing out through the gates of the city with the triumphant song--

Fling wide the Gates!

Fling wide the Gates!

For the Saviour waits To tread in His royal way!

He has come from above In His power and love, To die on this Pa.s.sion Day.

The triumph of it, and the humiliation of it engrossed her.

How sweet is the grace of His sacred face, And lovely beyond compare!