The children were all three of them silent after Jessica had spoken: but each one of them was gathering comfort and strength from her words. It was a stroke which had come from God, and therefore it could not be very bad. No one had seen it fall; no one had known that the Father’s hand was lifted up to strike, and it had come down softly and gently, only hushing the voice and shutting up the gateway of the senses. Now that it was known, the chapel was gradually emptying as the congregation went away, and Jane and Winny, feeling calmed and strengthened, were ready to listen to their nurse, who was now anxious to take them home.
“Let Jessica come home with us, nurse,” said Winny, who still held Jessica’s hand between both her own. The nurse consented willingly, and in a few minutes they were walking homewards, one on each side of Jessica. They felt strangely bewildered still; but Jessica was like a guide to them, leading them through the fog and over the slimy crossings with familiar confidence, until they reached the door of the minister’s house, when she hung back shyly, as if not meaning to go in with them.
“You mustn’t leave us yet,” cried Winny, impetuously. “Papa is not come home, and I’m a little bit afraid. Aren’t you afraid, Jessica?”
“No,” answered Jessica cheerfully. “It can’t be anything dreadful bad.”
“You must come in and stay with us,” said Jane, the calm sedateness of her manner a little shaken by her fears. “Nurse, we will take Jessica into papa’s study till he comes home.”
The three children went quietly up stairs to the study and sat down by the fire, which was burning brightly, as if waiting to welcome the minister’s return after the labors of the day. The minister had gathered about him many books, so that every part of the large room was filled with them.
On the table lay those which he had been studying during the week, while he was preparing his elaborate sermon which was to have astonished and electrified even his accustomed hearers; and upon the desk there were scattered about the slips of paper upon which he had jotted down some of the profound thoughts which only a few of his people could comprehend. But upon the chimney-piece, at the end where his easy-chair was placed, and close to his hand, lay a small pocket-Bible, so worn with much reading that there was no book in his study like it.
The troubled children sitting on the hearth knew nothing of the profound and scholarly volumes on the table; but they were familiar with the little Bible, and Winny, taking it in her hand, lifted it to her lips and kissed it fondly.
“Papa always used to read and talk to us on a Sunday night after we had come home,” she said sorrowfully, speaking already as if the custom was one long past, which could never be resumed.
“Does a stroke last long, Jessica?” inquired Jane, with a look of deep anxiety.