“Then he does what is happen better—if we hev t’ heart to trust him—he sends an angel to strengthen us to drink it. I hev seen them as drank it wi’ thanksgiving.”
“O Martha! I am very, very sorrowful about it.”
“And varry often, dearie, it is God’s will for us to go forward—thou knows what I mean—to make a Calvary of our breaking hearts, and offer there t’ sacrifice that is dearest and hardest. Can ta tell me what ta fears, dearie?”
“Just what you say, Martha, that I must pass from Gethsemane to Calvary, and sacrifice there what is my dearest, sweetest hope; and I shall have to bear it alone.”
“Nay, thou wont. It isn’t fair o’ thee to say that; for thou knows better. My word, Miss Hallam, there’s love above and below, and strength all round about. If thee and me didn’t believe that, O what a thing it would be!”
“Martha, I may need help, the help of man and the help of woman. Can I trust to Ben and you?”
“I can speak for both of us. We’ll wear our last breath i’ your service. Neither Ben nor I are made o’ stuff that’ll shrink in t’ wetting. You can count on that, Miss Hallam.”
The next evening, just after dusk, Elizabeth was standing at the dining-room window. The butler had just arranged the silver upon the sideboard, and was taking some last orders from his mistress. He was an old man with many infirmities, both of body and temper, but he had served Hallam for fifty years, and was permitted many privileges. One of these was plain speech; and after a moment’s consideration upon the directions given him, he said:
“There’s summat troubling them as are dead and gone, Miss Hallam. If I was thee, I’d hev Mr. Antony come and do his duty by t’ land. They don’t like a woman i’ their shoes.”
“What are you talking about, Jasper?”