“Consent!” thundered Dowley, in a tone so loud that the cottage rang again, and the astonished children shrank closer to each other in fear. “Do you think that I ever would consent to your going there?”
Here was a blow so sudden, so unexpected, that it almost took away Mark’s breath. Recovering himself soon, however, he began, “I should be able to maintain myself, perhaps even to assist—”
“Don’t say one word more, or—” John uttered a horrible oath, but left his hearers to imagine, from his clenched hand and savage look, what was the threat which he intended should follow.
“At least,” said Mark, in an agitated voice, “allow me to return and tell Mr. Searle that you forbid me to go with him. He would think me so ungrateful—”
“What do I care what he thinks!”
“Oh, is it not enough,” cried Mark, in bitterness of spirit, “that my way is barred, that my hopes are ruined—” he could not speak on, his heart was too full.
“If he isn’t going to cry!” whispered Jack.
“A pretty pilgrim, to be so soft!” murmured Ben.
These mocking words roused the spirit of the persecuted boy, but it was rather an earthly spirit of indignation than a spirit of endurance for the Lord’s sake.