‘May you?’ said Mr. Ashford, smiling. ‘Is it wise, with all your wet things?’
‘I am not given to colds,’ answered Guy, and they walked on quickly for some minutes; after which he said, in a low voice and hurried manner,—‘would you make some mention of it in the Thanksgiving?’
‘Of course I will’ said Mr. Ashford, with much emotion. ‘The danger must have been great.’
‘It was,’ said Guy, as if the strong feeling would show itself. ‘It was most merciful. That little boat felt like a toy at the will of the winds and waves, till one recollected who held the storm in His hand.’
He spoke very simply, as if he could not help it, with his eye fixed on the clear eastern sky, and with a tone of grave awe and thankfulness which greatly struck Mr. Ashford, from the complete absence of self-consciousness, or from any attempt either to magnify or depreciate his sense of the danger.
‘You thought the storm a more dangerous time than your expedition on the rock?’
‘It was not. The fishermen, who were used to such things, did not think much of it; but I am glad to have been out on such a night, if only for the magnificent sensation it gives to realize one’s own powerlessness and His might. As for the rock, there was something to do to look to one’s footing, and cling on; no time to think.’
‘It was a desperate thing!’
‘Not so bad as it looked. One step at a time is all one wants, you know, and that there always was. But what a fine fellow Ben Robinson is! He behaved like a regular hero—it was the thorough contempt and love of danger one reads of. There must be a great deal of good in him, if one only knew how to get hold of it.’
‘Look there!’ was Mr. Ashford’s answer, as he turned his head at the church wicket; and, at a short distance behind, Guy saw Ben himself walking up the path, with his thankful, happy father, a sight that had not been seen for months, nay, for years.