All night Tibbie Dyster had lain awake in her lonely cottage, listening
to the quiet heavy _go_ of the water from which all the sweet babbling
sounds and delicate music-tones had departed. The articulation of the
river-god was choked in the weight and hurry of its course to the
expectant sea. Tibbie was still far from well, had had many relapses,
and was more than ever convinced that the Lord was going to let her see
his face.
Annie would have staid with her that Saturday night, as she not
unfrequently did, had she not known that Mrs Bruce would make it a
pretext for giving her no change of linen for another week.
The moment Bruce entered the chapel--for no weather deprived him of his
Sabbath privileges--Annie, who had been his companion so far, darted
off to see Tibbie. When Bruce found that she had not followed him, he
hurried to the door, but only to see her halfway down the street. He
returned in anger to his pew, which he was ashamed of showing thus
empty to the eyes of his brethren. But there were many pews in like
condition that morning.
The rain having moderated a little in the afternoon, the chapel was
crowded in the evening. Mrs Bruce was the only one of the Bruce-family
absent.
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