She followed him into the study, and when she had lighted his lamp he kissed her, saying softly, "May God bless you, Helen," and then he shut her gently from the room.
"Don't lock the door, John," she had said.

"I won't come in, but don't lock it." Her lip almost trembled as she spoke.
"No,--no," he said tenderly.

"Oh, Helen, I have made you suffer!" She was quick to protect him.

"No, I was only lonely; but you won't lock it ?" He did not, but poor Helen wandered forlornly about the darkened house, an indefinable dread chasing away the relief which had come when her husband spoke of spiritual trouble; she was glad, for the mere humanness of it, to hear Thaddeus and Alfaretta talking in the kitchen.
The next day, and the next, dragged slowly by.

When John was not at his writing-table, he was making those pastoral calls which took so much time and strength, and which Helen always felt were unnecessary.