“It’ll touch our flesh—the outward case of us—that which can drop off and turn to dust. It can never meddle with Rose Allen and Elizabeth Foulkes.”
“Bessy, I wish I had thy good courage.”
“Why, Rose, art feared of death?”
“Not of what comes after, thank God! But I’m feared of pain, Bessy, and of dying. It seems so shocking, when one looks forward to it.”
“Best not look forward. Maybe ’tis more shocking to think of than to feel. That’s the way with many things.”
“O Bessy! I can’t look on it calm, like that. It isn’t nature.”
“Nay, dear heart, ’tis grace, not nature.”
“And thou seest, in one way, ’tis worser for me than for thee. Thou art thyself alone; but there’s Father and Mother with me. How could I bear to see them suffer?”
“The Lord will never call thee to anything, Rose, which He will not give thee grace to bear. Be sure of that. Well, I’ve no father—he’s in Heaven, long years ago. But I’ve a good mother at Stoke Nayland, and I’d sooner hurt my own head than her little finger, any day I live. Dear maid, neither thou nor I know to what the Lord will call us. We do but know that on whatever journey He sendeth us, Himself shall pay the charges. Thou goest not a warfare at thine own cost. How many times in God’s Word is it said, ‘Fear not?’ Would the Lord have so oft repeated it, without He had known that we were very apt to fear?”
“Ah!” said Rose, sighing, “and the ‘fearful’ be among such as are left without the gate. O Bessy, if that fear should overcome me that I draw back! I cannot but think every moment shall make it more terrible to bear. And if one held not fast, but bought life, as soon as the fire were felt, by denying the truth! I am feared, dear heart! I’m feared.”