“But I want to do something; I must, I must.”
“Dear Eva, what can you do? Is it nothing that we have already won such a friend? have patience, sister.”
“Patience, Ruth, I have nothing but apprehension and fear. Think of her, our mother, so still, so proud. Yes, yes, the proudest woman I ever saw, with all our poverty and struggles; think of her in the hands of a policeman—in a cell of the tombs.”
“I do think of it, and it leaves me weak as a child; but Eva, there is a God above.”
Eva turned away from the sweet invalid with a gesture of sharp impatience.
“Yet our mother, and the dearest, brightest, noblest boy that ever lived, are forced from their homes, and innocent as angels, dragged like wolves through our streets. I cannot understand it; I cannot understand it!”
“Oh, Eva, Eva, have some faith in the justice of God, in the energy and goodness of this man who has already done so much for us. I am sure he will bring them back again!”
“But the time lengthens so. It is hours and hours since she was taken away! All night long that poor child has been shut up in a prison. Oh, it is terrible!”
“Ah, here is something; a carriage stops at the door. It brings us news, good or bad,” cried Ruth, now as much excited as her sister. “Run to the door, Eva.”
Eva had already sprung into the little entry, opened the door and met Mrs. Smith half way from the gate.