“Go on; go on; don’t stop!” cried the earl. “He may hear you—who can tell!”
Donal went down on his knees again.
“O God!” he said, “thou knowest us, whether we speak to thee or not; take from this man his hardness of heart. Make him love thee.”
There he stopped again. He could say no more.
“I can’t pray, my lord,” he said, rising. “I don’t know why. It seems as if nothing I said meant anything. I will pray for you when I am alone.”
“Are there so many devils about me that an honest fellow can’t pray in my company?” cried the earl. “I will pray myself, in spite of the whole swarm of them, big and little!—O God, save me! I don’t want to be damned. I will be good if thou wilt make me. I don’t care about it myself, but thou canst do as thou pleasest. It would be a fine thing if a rascal like me were to escape the devil through thy goodness after all. I’m worth nothing, but there’s my wife! Pray, pray, Lord God, let me one day see my wife again!—For Christ’s sake—ain’t that the way, Grant?—Amen.”
Donal had dropped on his knees once more when the earl began to pray. He uttered a hearty Amen. The earl turned sharply towards him, and saw he was weeping. He put out his hand to him, and said,
“You’ll stand my friend, Grant?”
CHAPTER LXXX.
AWAY-FARING.
Suddenly what strength lady Arctura had, gave way, and she began to sink. But it was spring with the summer at hand; they hoped she would recover sufficiently to be removed to a fitter climate. She did not herself think so. She had hardly a doubt that her time was come. She was calm, often cheerful, but her spirits were variable. Donal’s heart was sorer than he had thought it could be again.