“It ben’t for me to contradict you, Joe. But I don’t think you be going to die. You be no worse than last year. Be you now, Joe?”
It flashed across me how once before, a stormy night and darkness had brought me close to a soul in agony. Then I was in agony myself; now the world was all fair and hopeful around me—the portals of the world beyond ever opening wider as I approached them, and letting out more of their glory to gladden the path to their threshold. But here were two souls straying in a mist which faith might roll away, and leave them walking in the light. The moment was come. I must speak.
“Joe!” I called out.
“Who’s there?” he cried; and I heard him start to his feet.
“Only Mr. Walton. Where are you?”
“We can’t be very far off,” he answered, not in a tone of any pleasure at finding me so nigh.
I rose, and peering about through the darkness, found that they were a little higher up on the same rock by which I was sheltered.
“You mustn’t think,” I said, “that I have been eavesdropping. I had no idea anyone was near me till I heard your voices, and I did not hear a word till just the last sentence or two.”
“I saw someone go up the Castle-rock,” said Joe; “but I thought he was gone away again. It will be a lesson to me.”
“I’m no tell-tale, Joe,” I returned, as I scrambled up the rock. “You will have no cause to regret that I happened to overhear a little. I am sure, Joe, you will never say anything you need be ashamed of. But what I heard was sufficient to let me into the secret of your trouble. Will you let me talk to Joe, Agnes? I’ve been young myself, and, to tell the truth, I don’t think I’m old yet.”