She reached the house. There was a common staircase, and the hall door stood open. She met no one as she ran up-stairs, and her feet, innocent of shoes and stockings, made no sound. A door was a little open on the first landing, and Meg, peeping in, saw a man seated by a table. He was a tall and powerful man, and Meg knew at once that she was looking at Faith’s father.
There was profound silence in the house, and Meg heard the man, whose face was bowed over his hands, presently say:
“It’s a lie, it’s all a lie. There is no good God. If there were, He would never have torn my children away from me like this. And I have asked Him so often and so long to bring them back again. Yes; God does not hear prayer. It’s a lie, I say. There is no God, no Christ, no nothing.”
“How dare yer!” said Meg, rushing into the room like a little fury. The man’s words had stung her so hard that she lost both fear and self-control. She rushed at the man, and took his hands and shook them. “How dare yer, how dare yer!” she repeated. “Oh! yer a wicked, wicked man to say as there’s no Jesus Christ.”
Warden—for it was he—started, and stared at the furious little creature. He did not say a word, or attempt in his utter astonishment to oppose her. He only gazed hard, as one who was bereft of all reason.
“Oh! there is a Jesus Christ, and you sha’n’t dare say there ain’t,” repeated Meg; and then she suddenly flung herself on the floor at his feet, and gave way to the most violent, most passionate sobs he had ever heard proceeding from human breast.
He got up and locked the door; then he got water and gave it to Meg. He was kind rather than otherwise to the poor child. When she was better, he even brought her over to sit on the sofa where little Roy had slept his last sleep in that room.
“Now, why did you rush in and speak to me in that strange way?” he asked.
“’Cause yer drove me near mad. You had no call ter say so dreadful a thing as that my Jesus Christ worn’t there.”
“You believe in Him then?” said Warden.