Valentine drew near.
"And you are sure he said nothing more?" John was saying in the low inward tone of fatigue and exhaustion.
"No, sir. 'Tell Mr. Mortimer,' says he, 'that his son is considerable better,' and he told Mrs. Walker—I heard him say it—that the blessed little one was no worse, not a morsel worse."
Valentine paused and heard John speak again in that peculiar tone—"I have no hope, Swan."
"I wouldn't give up, sir, if I was you: allers hold on to hope, sir."
"I cannot stand the strain much longer," he continued, as if he had not listened, "but sometimes—my thoughts are often confused—but sometimes I feel some slight relief in prayer."
"Ay, sir," answered Swan, "the Scripture says, 'Knock, and it shall be opened to you,' and I've allers thought it was mighty easier for one that begs to go and knock there than anywhere else, for in that house the Master opens the door himself."
CHAPTER XXXI.
A WOMAN'S SYMPATHY.
"Midsummer night, not dark, not light.
Dusk all the scented air,
I'll e'en go forth to one I love,
And learn how he doth fare.
O the ring, the ring, my dear, for me,
The ring was a world too fine,
I wish it had sunk in a forty-fathom sea,
Or ever thou mad'st it mine.