“To confer with you on your spiritooal condition,” repeated my visitor.
“I understand that you have had some unfortoonate exercises of mind
under your affliction, and I observed that you absented yourself from
the Communion Table last Sunday.”
“I did.”
“Intentionally?”
“Intentionally.”
He seemed to expect me to say something more; and, seeing that there was
no help for it, I answered.
“I did not feel fit to go. I should not have dared to go. God does not
seem to me just now what He used to. He has dealt very bitterly with me.
But, however wicked I may be, I will not mock Him. I think, Deacon
Quirk, that I did right to stay away.”
“Well,” said the Deacon, twirling his hat with a puzzled look, “perhaps
you did. But I don’t see the excuse for any such feelings as would make
it necessary. I think it my duty to tell you, Mary, that I am sorry to
see you in such a rebellious state of mind.”