them. It's the way you make the piano talk. Why, it was like a new choir to-night."
She looked away from him. "I tried my best. I hope they liked it."
"It was wonderful, my child."
There was a sudden, awkward silence, and Naomi said nervously, "Well, I ought to be going."
She moved toward the door, and the Reverend Castor took up his hat and coat. "I'll walk with you, Naomi. I want some air."
Despite herself, she cried out in a sudden hysteria, "No, no. You mustn't do that."
"But it isn't safe down there by the railroads."
"Oh, I'm not afraid." She kept moving slowly toward the door.
"But I don't mind the walk, Naomi. It's no walk for a strong man like me."
"Oh, it isn't that. . . ." She hesitated for a moment. "I don't mean that. . . . I don't know how to explain, only . . . only you never walked home with Mrs. Timpkins when she was leading the choir . . . and . . . you see, if any one saw us. . . ."
He looked suddenly at the floor, and a great sigh escaped him—a heart-breaking sigh, filled with the ghosts of disillusionment, of misery and disappointment.
"Yes . . . I know," he said gently. "I understand."
The door closed behind her, and she was outside in the snow. She kept hearing the sigh. It haunted her as she hurried, confused and out of breath, down the long hill. She felt so sorry for him . . . a kind, good man like that. And all at once she began to cry silently.
