Mark Rivers had also returned. He was too evidently in one of
his moods of sombre silentness, but his congratulations were warm and as
he sat at dinner he made unusual efforts to be at his agreeable best.
When they left the table, he said, "No, Colonel, I shall not smoke
to-night. May I have a few minutes of your time, Mrs. Penhallow?"
"Certainly, Mark--I want to talk to you about the Bible Class--I mean to
take it up again." She led the way into her own little library. "Sit
down--there is so much to talk over. Of course, you will marry these dear
children somewhere about Christmas time."
"No," he said, "I shall be far away."
"Away! Oh, Mark! surely you do not mean to leave us."
"Yes, I am going to live as a missionary among the Indians."
"You cannot--you really cannot--where could you be more useful than
here?"
"No, I must go. My life on the whole has been most happy here--and how to
thank you I fail to be able to say."
"But why," she urged, "why do you go?"
"Oh--I want--I must have an active life, open air, even risks. The war
gave me what I need for entire competence of body and mind to use in my
Master's service. But now, the war is at an end--"
"Thank God! But all you ask--and more--Mark, except danger, are
here--and oh, but we shall miss you, and more than ever when we miss
too these children.
Pages:
636
637
638
639
640
641
642
643
644
645
646
647
648
649
650
651
652
653
654
655
656
657
658
659
660