"Not very much sometimes," admitted Mr. Wilmot. Then with a grave smile he added, "But isn't it a happy thing to be able to say, not only 'To live is Christ!' but also 'To die is gain!'"
"Mercy, sir! You're not a-going to die," exclaimed Mrs. Stuart, though she had often of late asserted a belief in the fatal nature of Mr. Wilmot's illness.
"That neither you nor I can tell. It will be as my Master wills. If He calls me, I am ready."
"But, sir—"
Mrs. Stuart stopped. Something in his look affected her strangely. She might talk to others in a glib style about his failing health, assuming to possess a gift of foresight, yet all the while not fully believing her own words. To hear him speak thus was another matter. A lump in her throat checked utterance.
"It matters little—if one is ready—whether the call Home comes a few years earlier or later," mused Mr. Wilmot. "But—if one were not ready—"
"I'm sure," said Mrs. Stuart huskily—"I'm sure it wasn't that as I meant, though I did say to Mrs. Mason as I'd never seen nobody so changed, and Mrs. Mason said—she says—"
Actually a tear rolled down Mrs. Stuart's cheek, and fell on her lap. Ashamed, she turned away her head.
"My kind old friend!" Mr. Wilmot said quickly, touched by the sight. "But I did not mean to distress you, Mrs. Stuart. I was speaking then in general terms—about you or me or anybody; not about myself alone. The call may come to any one among us, any day; and I should like to feel that you and all are indeed ready for it."
Then passing naturally to another subject, he asked, "How is Archie?"