Mrs. Seymour could hardly believe that all this had happened in one day—that it could be only yesterday when she had felt that everything was going so well with the pair whom she loved better than herself.
She sat down in Meg's low chair, and looked into the fire with a troubled face. She argued to herself that Jem and Meg little knew the burden they were taking up; and even if they dimly understood it, they were not able to look into the future, and could not know what the years might bring.
While these thoughts were passing through her mind, she seemed to see something written across the fire as she gazed into it.
The words were familiar, and yet she could not make them out in their order. She shut her eyes, but still they came again, haunting her with a rebuke as thorough as it was gentle. Was it the Holy Spirit, who teaches all those who are wanting to do their Father's will?
"I was an hungered, and ye gave Me meat: I was thirsty, and ye gave Me drink: I was a stranger, and ye took Me in. Verily I say unto you, Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these My brethren, ye have done it unto Me."
"My Lord, have I grudged Thee?" she said, her old eyes dimmed with rare tears. "Oh, forgive me, and let me do my part towards taking Thee in!"
When the clock struck six she rose and softly went into the front room. With as little sound as possible she set Jem's breakfast, and lighted his fire; putting on the kettle and preparing his room against he should awake.
After that she made some gruel for her daughter, on the clear little fire she had noiselessly kept up all night, and when all was done, she decided it was time to wake Jem.
But when she entered his room again he was already up, all traces of fatigue gone from his face, and her own cheerful Jem stood before her.
She signed to him that Meg was still asleep, and closing the door behind her, she set about making the tea, Jem asking her in a low tone what sort of a night his wife had passed.