“I tell you, Cissy, I can’t stand it!”
“Father stood more than that,” said Cissy in that low, firm voice.
“Oh, don’t be always talking about Father! He was a man and could bear things. I’ve had enough of it. God Almighty won’t be hard on me, if I do give in.”
“Hard, Will! Do you call it hard when people are grieved to the heart because you do something which they’d lay down their lives you shouldn’t do? The Lord did lay down His life for you: and yet you say that you can’t bear a little hunger and a few stripes for Him!”
“Cis, you don’t know what it is. You’re a maid, and I dare say they don’t lay on so hard on you. It’s more than a little, I can tell you.”
Cissy knew what it was far better than Will, for he was a strong boy, on whom hardships fell lightly, while she had to bear the blows and the hunger with a delicate and enfeebled frame. But she only said,—
“Will, don’t you care for me?”
“Of course I do, Cis.”
“I think the only thing in the world that could break my heart would be to see you or Nell ‘giving in’, as you call it. I couldn’t stand that, Will. I can stand anything else. I hoped you cared for God and Father: but if you won’t heed them, I must see if you will listen to me. It would kill me, Will.”
“Oh, come, Cis, don’t talk so.”