The three younger children, who had no taste for conversation such as this, having finished their meal slunk into the back room, to gamble away farthings as they had learned to do from their father. Ann sat down by the fire opposite to Mark, a more gentle expression than usual upon her face, and pushing back the hair from her brow, listened, leaning on her hand.
“I will tell you, mother, what the clergyman told me—I wish that I could remember every word. He said that God would guide us by his counsel here, and afterward receive us to glory. And he spoke of that glory, that dazzling, endless glory! Oh, mother, how wretched and dark seems this earth when we think of the blessedness to come!”
“But that blessedness may not be for us,” said Ann.
“He said that it was for those who had faith, who believed in the Lord Jesus Christ.”
“I believe,” said the woman, “I never doubted the Bible; I used to read it when I was a child.”
“We will read mine together now, mother.”
“And what more did the clergyman tell you?”
“He told me that the faith which brings us to heaven will be sure to produce—” Mark paused to recall the exact words—“repentance, love, and a holy life.”
“A holy life!” repeated Ann, slowly. Painful thoughts crossed her mind of many things constantly done that ought not to be done, habits hard to be parted with as a right hand or a right eye; holiness seemed something as far beyond her reach as the moon which was now rising in the cloudy sky; she folded her hands with a gloomy smile, and said, “If that be needful, we may as well leave all these fine hopes to those who have some chance of winning what they wish!”
“The way is not shut to us.”