John looked at me and said with a sigh, "I should like to go to church.

It is long since I was there.

You and I have always been on Christmas mornings, Sophy, and Constance would have wished it had she been with us." His words, so unexpected and tender, filled my eyes with tears; not tears of grief, but of deep thankfulness to see my loved one turning once more to the old ways.

It was the first time I had heard him speak of Constance, and that sweet name, with the infinite pathos of her death, and of the spectacle of my brother's weakness, so overcame me that I could not speak.

I only pressed his hand and nodded.