“Ay, for sure! I’ll nobbut get my shawl, Miss Hallam. I was turning thee over i’ my mind when, I saw thee coming. Is there aught wrong?”
“Why do you ask, Martha?”
“Nay, I’m sure I can’t tell; only I can see fine that thou ar’n’t same as thou was yesterday.”
They were just entering the park, and Elizabeth stood musing while Martha closed the gates. Then, after walking a few yards, she said, “Martha, do you believe the dead can speak to the living?”
“Ay, I do. If t’ living will hear, t’ dead will speak. There’s good men—and John Wesley among ‘em—who lived w’ one foot i’ this world, and one in t’ other. I would think man or woman hed varry little o’ t’ next world about ‘em, who hed nivver seen or heard any thing from it. Them that hev sat weeping on their bedside at midnight—them that hev prayed death away from t’ cradle side—them that hev wrestled a’ night long, as Jacob did, they know whether t’ next world visits this world or not. Hev you seen aught, Miss Hallam?”
“I have seen my father, Martha. Indeed I have.”
“I don’t doubt it, not a minute. He’d hev a reason for coming.”
“He came to remind me of a duty and to strengthen me for it. Ah, Martha, Martha! If this cup could pass from me! if this cup could pass from me!”
“Honey, dear, what can Martha do for thee? Ivery Christian some time or other comes to Gethsemane. I hev found that out. Let this cup pass, Lord. Didn’t I pray that prayer mysen, night and day?”
“Surely, Martha, about Ben—and God let it pass. But he does not always let it pass when we ask him.”