“Then bide a bit. I’ll mak’ a cup o’ tea in t’ little Wesley tea-pot; and I’ll toast thee a Yorkshire cake, and we’ll eat a mouthful together in this world before we part. We’ll be none like to meet again.”
She wiped away every trace of tears, and drew the little table to the hearth-stone, and set out her humble service. And she quite put away her own trouble and spoke cheerfully, and served Phyllis with busy hospitality.
“For, you see,” she said, as she knelt before the fire toasting the cake, “I feel as if you were a pilgrim, Sister Phyllis, that had come across my little cottage on your way to the kingdom. And if I didn’t mak’ you welcome, and say a hearty, loving ‘Godspeed’ to you, I’d happen miss a bit o’ my own welcome when I enter the gates o’ the kingdom. So, eat and drink, dearie; and may the bread strengthen you, and the cup be full o’ blessing.”
“I shall never forget you, Martha. I think we shall know each other when we meet again.”
“For sure we will. It will be in ‘Jerusalem the golden’ I don’t doubt. Farewell, sister!” and she took the sweet young face between her large hands and kissed it.
Her smile was bright, her words cheerful, but Phyllis went down the street with a heavy heart. She stopped at the house where Mr. North lodged and asked to see him. He came down to her with a smile; but when she said, “It is a good-bye, Mr. North,” his face grew pale, his eyes full of trouble; he was unable to answer her. The silence became painful, and Phyllis rose.
“Let me walk a little way with you. Pardon me, I was not prepared for this—blow.”
Then Phyllis knew that he loved her. Then he knew it himself. A great pity was in her heart. She was silent and constrained, and they walked together as two who are walking toward a grave.
“It is very hard for me to say ‘good-bye,’ Miss Fontaine. I shall never, never forget you.”
“There are many hard things in life, Mr. North; we can but bear them.”