Evadne drew her head down until it was on a level with her own.  “Let Christ teach you to love, dear,” she whispered, “Then, ’charity will cover the multitude of sins.’” She opened the book she had been reading when her cousin entered and took from it a newspaper clipping.  “Read this,” she said.  “Aunt Marthe sent it in her last letter.  If we follow its teachings I think all the fret and worry will go out of our lives for good.”

And Marion read,—­“To step out of self-life into Christ-life, to lie still and let him lift you out of it, to fold your hands close and hide your face upon the hem of his robe, to let him lay his cooling, soothing, healing hands upon your soul, and draw all the hurry and fever away, to realize that you are not a mighty messenger, an important worker of his, full of care and responsibility, but only a little child with a Father’s gentle bidding to heed and fulfil, to lay your busy plans and ambitions confidently in his hands, as the child brings its broken toys at its mother’s call; to serve him by waiting, to praise him by saying ‘Holy, holy, holy,’ a single note of praise, as do the seraphim of the heavens if that be his will, to cease to live in self and for self and to live in him and for him, to love his honor more than your own, to be a clear and facile medium for his life-tide to shine and glow through—­this is consecration and this is rest.”

When, some hours later, Evadne went down-stairs to luncheon, she felt strangely happy.  Marion had said Louis must confess there was something in Christianity when he looked at her.  That was what she longed to do—­to prove to him the reality of the religion of Jesus.  And that afternoon she was going to give such a pleasure to Gretchen and little Hans.  It was beautiful to be able to give pleasure to people.  She could just fancy how Gretchen’s eyes would glisten as she talked to her in her mother tongue, while little Hans’ shyness would vanish under the genial influence of Pompey’s sympathetic companionship, and he would clap his hands with delight as Brutus and Caesar drew them under the arches of evergreen beauty, bending low beneath their ermine robes, while the silver bells broke the hush of silence which dwelt among the forest halls with a subdued melody and then rang out joyously as they emerged into the open, where the sun shone bright and clothed denuded twigs and trees in the bewitching beauty of a silver thaw.  It would always seem to little Hans like a dream of fairyland and she would be remembered as his fairy godmother.  It was a pleasant role—­that of a fairy godmother.

She started, for Louis was saying carelessly to the servant,—­“Tell Pompey to have the sleigh ready by half-past two, sharp.”

“Why, Louis!” she spoke as if in a dream, “I am going to have the sleigh this afternoon.”

“That is unfortunate, coz,” said Louis lightly, “as probably we are going in different directions.”

“I am going to the Park,” stammered Evadne, “with little Hans and Gretchen.”