There was even a Bible, well worn at that, lying on a
table by which a chair was drawn as if the reader had but just laid the
book aside.
And now this woman stood before her. This woman with the deep, kind eyes,
the soft, calm voice, her cheeks glowing with healthful outdoor exercise,
and her air of sweet womanliness.
The nurse spoke the second time.
"I am Miss Farwell. You are Miss Jordan, I believe. I see you pass the
house frequently. Won't you be seated, please, you seem to be in
trouble."
Poor Charity! Dropping weakly into a chair she burst into bitter tears.
Then before Miss Farwell could recover from her surprise, the caller
exclaimed, "I came to see you about our minister, Reverend Matthews."
The color in the nurse's cheeks deepened.
"But why should you come to me about Mr. Matthews? I know nothing of
your church affairs, Miss Jordan."
"I know that you do not," the other returned bitterly. "You have never
been to hear him preach. You know nothing--nothing of what it means to
him--to me, to all of us, I mean. How could you know anything about it?"
This passionate outburst and the sight of Charity's crimson face and
embarrassed manner caused the color to disappear from the nurse's cheeks.
After a moment she said coolly, "Do you not think it would be well for
you to explain clearly just what you mean and why you come to me?"
In her effort to explain Charity's words came tumbling recklessly,
impetuously out, in all sorts of disorder.
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