“I hope they will not delay it,” said Monteath. “I would fain hope that in twelve hours, it will be over. I almost think it cannot be worse than what I suffered when I was lying on the road, before you found me.”
“Probably not so bad, and most probably much sooner over. Some people would think me wrong in letting you speak of this, but I think it will do you no harm. You would think about it at all events, and it makes anticipated evils less, to talk rationally about them.”
“You are right,” said Monteath. “I have been looking steadily at the whole matter, and I want to ask you one thing. Mr Everett will perhaps bring no assistant. If he does not, will you, can you, stand by, and prevent my father from being present? I know he will insist on it, if no friend is at hand but Mr Everett.”
“I can, and I certainly will,” replied Charles. “I have never attempted any thing of the kind, but I think I can make my resolution equal to the occasion. If I can be of use, I shall not think of myself.”
“Thank you, thank you,” replied Monteath. “Things might have been worse with me yet. There might have been no one who would have had compassion on me, no friend who would have comforted me as you are doing.”
“I can do little,” said Charles. “There is a better friend with you, who can yield support when earthly friends are far away, or too feeble to give comfort. I hope you feel this.”
“I do now, more than ever in my life before. Just now, I was in too much pain to think of any thing: but I am easy enough to think, and speak, and listen, at present. Have you a Bible with you?”
Charles instantly produced his Bible, and asked his friend what he should read.
“The forty-second and forty-third Psalms first,” said Monteath.
Charles read them, and afterwards chose a chapter in the New Testament, and with pleasure he perceived that Monteath appeared more and more tranquil, and in a little time he enjoyed the repose which his exhausted frame required.