'You surely have time on the Sabbath-day?'
'Oh, sir, that is the only leisure day I have, and then I like to take little James, and go with him to his father's grave, and when I get back, there's tea to make, (I never have tea but on Sundays, sir,) and somehow the time slips away till dark, when I go to bed. I can't afford to light a candle on Sunday nights.'
'Do you never visit your neighbours on that day?'
'Oh no, sir, since my husband died, I have not cared for going out, and a lone woman like me is but poor company for others, so they never come to see me.'
'You tell me of visiting your husband's grave—when you stand over it, do you ever think of the time you will meet him again?'
'Not often; he used to talk to me about it, but I never can think of anything but him, just as he lived, and I remember a great many kind things he used to say, and speak them over to the baby (little James—he was named for his father, sir,) in his own words.' And the poor woman bent over her work, and plied her needle faster than ever.
'It is natural,' said Mr Maurice, kindly, 'that you should remember your husband as he was when living, but it is strange that you so seldom think of seeing him again.'
'Oh, sir, that looks like a dream to me, I can't more than half believe it, but I know the other to be reality.'
'Yet one is as true as the other.' The woman sighed, and her countenance looked troubled, but she made no answer.
'You believe the Bible?'