She preceded them into the low-ceilinged parlour, with the horsehair-covered sofa and the Family Bible on the little table in the window, that had been a haven to so many faint-hearted ones during the past two years.
"Ye'll have heard the news?" she asked. "There's been an action. Mrs. Thatcher's man's gone down, and Mrs. Gascoigne, she's awa' to bring her a bit comfort like." She surveyed the visitors sympathetically. "A've nae doot there's mair than Mrs. Thatcher'll be needin' comfort the morn, puir lambs."
"Oh," cried Mrs. Cavendish, "don't—don't! Please don't——" She regained her self-control with an effort and turned to the window with her lip between her teeth.
"Will I bring ye a cup of tea?" queried the landlady. "I have the kettle boilin'."
"No thank you," said Betty. "It's very kind of you, but I think we'll just sit down and wait quietly, if we may, till Mrs. Gascoigne comes in. I don't expect she'll be long."
The landlady departed a little reluctantly, and Eileen Cavendish turned from the window.
"I'm sorry," she said. "I'm a coward to go to pieces like this. You're a dear…. And it's every bit as bad for you as it is for me, I know. But I'm not a coward really. Bill would just hate me to be a coward. It's only because—because…" She met Betty's eyes, and for the first time the shadow of a smile hovered about her mouth.
Betty stepped forward impulsively and kissed her. "Then you're all right—whatever happens. You won't be quite alone," she said. They sat down side by side on the horsehair-covered sofa and Eileen Cavendish half-shyly rested her hand on Betty's as it lay in her lap.
"I'm a poor creature," said the elder girl. "I wish I had something—something in me that other women have. You have it, Mrs. Gascoigne has it, and Etta Clavering. It's a sort of—strength. Something inside you all that nothing can shake or make waver." Tears welled up in her eyes and trickled slowly down her cheeks. "It's Faith," she said, and her voice trembled. "It's just believing that God can't hurt you…" She fumbled blindly for her tiny handkerchief.
Betty's eyes were wet too. "Ah!" she said gently. "But you believe that too—really: deep down inside. Everybody does. It's in everything—God's mercy…." Her voice was scarcely raised above a whisper.