"Yes, most of the time," she replied, and over his face there flitted a shadow of fear lest he had talked of things he ought not.
"What did I say?" he asked; and she told him as nearly as she could remember.
"And Aunt Hannah was here all the time? Where is she now?" he inquired; and Lucy replied: She went home last night, for the first time in two weeks. She had to go, as the snow had drifted under the eaves, and the house was leaking badly."
"Is she there alone?" Grey asked, with a shudder, as he thought of that hidden grave under the floor.
"No, Sam is there, and I sent Sarah with her," was Lucy's answer, and after a moment Grey continued: "Wasn't Mr. Sanford here once; in the room, I mean?"
"Yes, many times," Lucy replied. "He prayed for you here two or three times, and in the church every Sunday."
"Send for him. I want to see him. Send now," Grey said, adding, as he saw the expression of joy on his aunt's face, and guessed what was in her mind. "Don't think I'm awful good, or going to join the church. It is not that, but I want to see the minister before Aunt Hannah comes back."
Fortunately Mr. Sanford was at that very moment below. He had stopped on his way to the post-office to inquire for Grey, at whose side he soon stood, holding the pale hand in his, and looking inquiringly into the eager face of the boy who had asked to see him alone, and who said to him as he had to his Aunt Lucy; "Don't think I am good, or going to join the church, for I am not, I thank you for praying for me. I guess it helped me pull through, and I am going to pray myself by and by, but I don't want you to talk to me about that now. I want to ask you something. Grandpa never joined the church, and at the funeral you said he was good, that he was safe; did you mean it?"
Grey's eyes were fixed earnestly upon the rector, who answered, unhesitatingly: "I wish I were as sure of heaven as he. I know he is safe."
"You are sure?" Grey rejoined, flushing a little, for now he was nearing the real object of his interview with the rector, "You are sure, and Aunt Hannah is sure. She ought to know. You believe her a good woman?"
Mr. Sanford could not understand the breathless eagerness with which Grey awaited his reply, which came quickly, decidedly: "Your Aunt Hannah! Yes, she is the best, the truest, the purest woman who ever lived. She is a martyr, a saint, an angel. I never knew one like her."