"I knew it would be so," she said. "'With Christ, which is far better.'"[[10]]
David Colville left an agreeable impression of himself on the minds of both Celia and Patient when he shook hands with them at parting.
There was sore mourning for Edward Ingram at Ashcliffe.
"If it would please the Lord to ask me also!" sighed Patient.
"No, dear Patient! I want you," said Celia, lovingly.
"So long as you really want me, Madam, I shall be kept here; but the Lord knoweth better than you what you need, and our work is done when He calleth us. Yet so much, there! My father, my mother, Roswith, Mr. Grey, and Lady Magdalene, and Mr. Philip, and now my ain bairn Maister Edward"—and Patient broke down.
"Now, Patient, my dear!" said Cicely, from her chair, for she was infirm now—"now Patient, my dear, don't you go to fret over the Lord's mercies. Can't you see, child, that He is but taking all your jewels to keep them safer than you can, and that He'll give them all back to you up yonder? 'Tis such a short time here—such a short time!"
"Ay, I ken that," said Patient; "but you're a deal further on than I am, Cicely."
"Why, my dear, if you mean I shall die sooner, I don't know who told you; and if you mean that I know more about the Lord than you, I'm sure 'tis the first time I've heard of it. Maybe, children, we can't tell which of us is the furthest—the Lord knows. The one nearest Him is the furthest on."
"And we are always straying from Him," said Celia, sighing. "It scarce seems in us to keep always near Him."