“Your uncle does enough of that for the family,” said her aunt coldly.  “I do not wish you to try any such experiments again.”

Puzzled and chilled, Evadne left the room.  Was obeying the commands of Christ only an “experiment” after all?

She crept up to her favorite retreat and threw herself upon her gayly covered couch.  “Oh, Jesus Christ!” she cried passionately, “I am glad I did not live in Galilee when you were there!  Aunt Kate and Isabelle would have thought it bad form for me to follow you in the crowd where the sinners were.  But they can’t keep me from doing so now!

“Oh, I wish I were dead!  No one would care.  Yes, Pompey would be sorry.  Louis would call it ‘a sable attachment,’ but Pompey loved my father.  Oh, dearest! dearest!”

She buried her head in her hands while wave after wave of desolation broke over the lonely soul.  “A beautiful possibility” her knight of the gate had said.  Could life become that to her?

Downstairs Pompey began to sing,—­

  “Shall we meet beyond the river,
  Where the surges cease to roll,
  Where in all the bright forever
  Sorrow ne’er shall press the soul?”

The rich vibrations rolled up and trembled about her.  She held out her arms and her voice broke in a cry of triumphant faith, “Yes, we shall meet, Lord Jesus, face to face!”

CHAPTER VIII.

“Pompey,” said Evadne one morning, “I am going to see your wife.”

The black face beamed with satisfaction.  “Dyee’ll be mighty uplifted, Miss ‘Vadney.  She think a powerful sight o’ Mass Lennux.”

Evadne stood watching him as he gave finishing touches to the silver mountings of the handsome harness.  “I don’t believe there is another harness in Marlborough that shines like yours, Pompey,” she said with a laugh.  “You are as particular with it as though every day was a special occasion.”

“So ’tis, Miss ‘Vadney,” said Pompey simply.  “Can’t slight nuthin’ when de Lord’s lookin’ on.  Whoa, Brutis!  Dere’s goin’ ter be Holiness to de Lord written on de bells ob de horses bimeby, Missy.  I’se got it writ dere now.”

“I believe you have, Pompey,” said Evadne soberly, “for you do your work just as perfectly whether Uncle Lawrence is going to see it or not.  It almost seems as if you were trying to please someone out of sight.”

Pompey drew himself up to his full height.  “I’se a frien’ ob de Lord Jesus, Miss ’Vadney.  I’se got ter do everything perfect ’cause ob dat.  Couldn’t bring no disgrace on my Lord.”

“But would that disgrace him?” asked Evadne in wonderment.

“Why, yes, Missy.  Ef I wuz a poor, shifles’ crittur, only workin’ fer de praise o’ men, folks would say,—­’he’s no differen’ frum de rest; you’ve got to keep yer eye on him ef yer want tings done properly.  De King’s chillen ain’t no better dan de worl’s chillen be.’