Her invalid daughter (suffering from
nothing, in my opinion, but incurable laziness, inherited from her
mother) announced that she meant to remain in bed for the day. Rachel
and I went alone together to church. A magnificent sermon was preached
by my gifted friend on the heathen indifference of the world to the
sinfulness of little sins. For more than an hour his eloquence (assisted
by his glorious voice) thundered through the sacred edifice. I said to
Rachel, when we came out, "Has it found its way to your heart, dear?"
And she answered, "No; it has only made my head ache." This might have
been discouraging to some people; but, once embarked on a career of
manifest usefulness, nothing discourages Me.
We found Aunt Ablewhite and Mr. Bruff at luncheon. When Rachel declined
eating anything, and gave as a reason for it that she was suffering from
a headache, the lawyer's cunning instantly saw, and seized, the chance
that she had given him.
"There is only one remedy for a headache," said this horrible old man.
"A walk, Miss Rachel, is the thing to cure you. I am entirely at your
service, if you will honour me by accepting my arm."
"With the greatest pleasure.
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