“Surely not;” I returned warmly. “Nor to do it if God gives the strength and the grace.”
“I like to think of that grand, earnest Saint Paul, with his ‘thorn in the flesh.’ Perhaps it was some giant temper or desire. I fancy it must have been, for you know how he persecuted the Christians unto death. And though God would not take it away, there was the promise of His grace being sufficient.”
“As it is, always.”
“There are some years to live before I decide positively. But if they were spent in a worthy manner, and I mean them to be, with God’s help.”
“Oh, you could, surely. And papa would be your best friend;” I rejoined eagerly.
“Keep my secret—I have your promise,” he said in a hurried manner, for a step sounded on the walk.
“It is sacred to me until you wish to take others into your confidence.”
Stephen spoke and we turned, walking slowly up to the house. Louis sat down on the step beside papa. I stood undecided whether to go in or not, when Stephen took my arm and drew me around the corner of the porch. There was a long grape arbor whose gloom was made a pleasant twilight by the silver sifted through the openings between the leaves, and we took a turn up and down.
“I want to tell you,” he began almost abruptly, and his voice had a hard, strained sound, “that I heard—the last of what you said. I could not help it. And I know your secret.”
I was a trifle annoyed, but I controlled myself.