Then he said, with a long, indrawn breath, "Let us pray!" The people rose, and stood with bowed heads through the short, eager, earnest prayer.

Then the preacher gave out the hymn, and there was the rustle of turning to face the choir.

The quaint, doleful tune of Windham wailed and sobbed through the words,-- "The burden of our weighty guilt Would sink us down to flames; And threatening vengeance rolls above, To crush our feeble frames!" The choir sang with cheerful heartiness; it was a relief from the tension of the sermon, a reaction to life, and hope, and healthy humanness after these shadows of death.

It all seemed part of a dream to Helen: the two happy-faced girls standing in the choir, with bunches of apple-blossoms in the belts of their fresh calico dresses, and the three young farmers who held the green singing-books open, all singing heartily together,-- "'Tis boundless, 'tis amazing love, That bears us up from hell!" Helen watched them with fascinated curiosity; she wondered if they could believe what they had just heard.

Surely not; or how could they know a moment's happiness, or even live! After the benediction had been pronounced she walked absently down the aisle, and went at once to her horse under the flickering shadows of the chestnuts.