“Art thou so, daughter?” he answered a little sadly. “Have a care thy quick tongue bring thee not into more trouble than need be. Child, to refuse that submission may mean a fiery death. And we may not—we must not—shrink from facing death for Him who passed through death for us. Lord, grant us Thy grace to stand true!”
And William Mount stood up with uncovered head, and looked up, as we all do instinctively when we speak to Him who dwelleth in the heavens.
“Who hath abolished death!” was the soft response of Alice.
Chapter Six.
Rose asks a Favour.
“You’ll not find no better, search all Colchester through!” said Mrs Clere, to a fat woman who did not look particularly amiable, holding up some worsted florence, drab with a red stripe.
“Well, I’m not so sure,” replied the cross-looking customer. “Tomkins, now, in Wye Street, they showed me some Kendal frieze thicker nor that, and a halfpenny less by the yard.”
“Tomkins!” said Mrs Clere, in a tone not at all flattering to the despised Tomkins. “Why, if that man knows a Kendal frieze from a piece of black satin, it’s all you can look for. Never bred up to the business, he wasn’t. And his wife’s a poor good-for-nought that wouldn’t know which end of the broom to sweep with, and his daughters idle, gossiping hussies that’ll drive their husbands wild one o’ these days. Don’t talk to me about Tomkins!”