"Never, Mara, never. I cannot believe that kind of talk. I see no love, no mercy in it. Of course, if there is any life after death you will be happy; if there is a heaven you will be there; but can this dim, unsubstantial, cloudy prospect make you happy in leaving me and giving up one's lover? Oh, Mara, you cannot love as I do, or you could not"—
"Moses, I have suffered,—oh, very, very much. It was many months ago when I first thought that I must give everything up,—when I thought that we must part; but Christ helped me; he showed me his wonderful love,—the love that surrounds us all our life, that follows us in all our wanderings, and sustains us in all our weaknesses,—and then I felt that whatever He wills for us is in love; oh, believe it,—believe it for my sake, for your own."
"Oh, I cannot, I cannot," said Moses; but as he looked at the bright, pale face, and felt how the tempest of his feelings shook the frail form, he checked himself. "I do wrong to agitate you so, Mara. I will try to be calm."
"And to pray?" she said, beseechingly.
He shut his lips in gloomy silence.
"Promise me," she said.
"I have prayed ever since I got your first letter, and I see it does no good," he answered. "Our prayers cannot alter fate."
"Fate! there is no fate," she answered; "there is a strong and loving Father who guides the way, though we know it not. We cannot resist His will; but it is all love,—pure, pure love."
At this moment Sally came softly into the room. A gentle air of womanly authority seemed to express itself in that once gay and giddy face, at which Moses, in the midst of his misery, marveled.
"You must not stay any longer now," she said; "it would be too much for her strength; this is enough for this morning."