He had stumbled to His feet.
For day and night Christ standeth,
Scanning each soul as it landeth,
With a face that hath once been dead,
With a mouth which once did cry
From that River in agony,—
‘The waters go over my head.’”
In the morning we were awakened by a pale, sorrowful woman, barefooted, and in the simplest garment, bringing us fresh water, some biscuits just out of the oven and a cup of tea. But she brought us neither milk or butter. “They hev been in the way of it all night,” she said; “they’re full of death. Sure!”
She had wept till she had no tears left, and the worst was over. “He is gone,” she added. “Jim, he’s gone! Eat a mouthful and get away. It isn’t safe here—and you be strangers, too.”