Katharine's voice trembled. She was so young, poor thing, and sometimes her timid nature fell away from the faith that gave it strength, and shuddered at the death before her.
"Then and now we must put our faith in Him," answered the old man, with tender solemnity.
"I know—I do, father!"
There was something very sweet in the way she uttered this little word "father." Indeed, Katharine had been brought to trust in the old man so thoroughly that she followed him as a lamb keeps by the side of its shepherd. But for his mild, firm teachings, the poor child must have fallen under the burden of her misfortunes, and the sorrow of her young life might have taken a different course.
"What is sorrow, what is death itself, compared to the pangs of guilt, my child?"
"I know, father, but death seems terrible to me sometimes when I am alone here in the night."
Mrs. Thrasher began to sob and Mrs. Allen looked down upon her child in pale grief.
"Ah, why cannot I, who am old, and used to trouble, take her place," she said, drearily.
"Yes, mother, I want courage. At first, when they left me, I was a coward, but it is not so of late, at least not often. Something here grows stronger every day."
The girl laid one hand on her heart, while a soft glow came to her face.