The lips parted in a scornful smile, and the eyes flashed with a spark of fire that must have once been in them. "Oh, a church member; no, I beg of you, don't let him come here; I want nothing to do with him."
"But, my dear, he is a good man."
"Yes I know," said the girl. "I have met these good church people before."
"But honey, I'm a church member."
"You are a Christian, mother; I love Christ and his people; but a man can't prove himself a Christian simply by being a church member. But I am tired. Forgive me if I pain you, mother, but I cannot see the minister. He is a good man, a Christian perhaps, but he can do me no good now; and I would rather die alone with you. The church has driven me from its doors so many, many times. It was always so cold and unfeeling. They bestow their pity on the dead bodies of people, and by their manner, freeze the souls of men."
Exhausted with the effort of so long a speech, she dropped into a stupor again.
Later, after Rev. Cameron had come and gone without seeing her, she suddenly opened her eyes and whispered, "mother, I have been thinking; would you be happier in knowing that I'm not afraid to die?"
The good old woman tightened her grasp on the white hand she held, and made no other answer but to bow her gray head and press her lips to the forehead of the girl.
"I know you would; and I'll tell you."
"I lived—" She was interrupted by a low knock at the door and a sweet voice calling gently: "May I come in, Mother Gray?"