"I do not know how to have faith, dear lady," groaned Mr. Gilchrist. "There seems no ground for faith."
"Ah, my dear sir," was her innocent reply, "faith would not be faith were there ground for it. It is simple trust in our Father's goodness."
Gilchrist could not reply. He knew that she was right; he knew that she was nearer to God than he; he felt rebuked, though she was far from having intended to administer rebuke,—it did not occur to her that she had done so.
There was silence for a few minutes, then she began again.
"Tell me about Ralph, he must be about the age of my brother Sydney."
"Not seventeen," replied Mr. Gilchrist.
"And what a hero he is! how much bravery he has shown! Sydney would be so envious of him. He is very high-spirited and daring too. He is going to be a soldier,—papa is a soldier, you know."
"Yes, madam?"
"I have heard papa say that the hardest thing soldiers have to do is to wait until they are wanted. When they are charging down upon an enemy, and fighting, they are carried on by the excitement, and forget everything but the work in hand. When they are standing still, doing nothing but keeping steady, and seeing the battle carried on by others on every hand, it is a very hard thing for them to hold themselves in."