'How you startled me!" she said. "I thought you had suddenly gone
crazy."
I went back to my seat crestfallen enough. All this time Ernest's
father had sat grim and grave in his corner, without a word. But now
he spoke.
"At what hour does my son have family worship? I should like to
retire. I feel very weary."
Now family worship at night consists in our kneeling down together
hand in hand, the last thing before going to bed, and in our own
room. The awful thought of changing this sweet, informal habit into a
formal one made me reply quickly:
"Oh, Ernest is very irregular about it. He is often out in the
evening, and sometimes we are quite late. I hope you never will feel
obliged to wait for him."
I trust I shall do my duty, whatever it costs," was the answer.
Oh, how I wished they would go to bed!
It was now ten o'clock, and I felt tired and restless. When Ernest is
out late I usually lie on the sofa and wait for him, and so am bright
and fresh when he comes in. But now I had to sit up, and there was no
knowing for how long. I poked at the fire and knocked down the shovel
and tongs, now I leaned back in my chair, and now I leaned forward,
and then I listened for his step. At last he came.
"What, are you not all gone to bed?" he asked.
As if I could go to bed when I had scarcely seen him a moment since
his return!
I explained why we waited, and then we had prayer and escorted our
guests to their rooms.
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