"Oh, don't ever try to do anything to them again," she said with a shudder, as they went down the spur; "whatever Fult does, let him alone. I couldn't have stood it last night if I had thought you were there."
He flushed. "If I ever did give up the war entirely," he said in a low voice, "hit would be for your sake—because you wanted me to live."
"I do, I do," she replied. "You must live—for me!"
"You are sure of yourself now?"
"Yes, I found out last night, when I was so frightened for fear you might be down there. Remember, you have me to think of now," she said.
All that day the women, with the exception of Annette, were profoundly depressed. Though it was only the first week in August, and they had planned to stay until September, they felt that it would be just as well to pack up and leave at once. They almost wished they had not come; for their affections were now entwined and rooted in a community for which they could do nothing.
A larger crowd than usual climbed the hill to the vesper service that evening, many of the older people, as well as the young. Uncle Ephraim was one.
"I allowed you would be out of heart, atter last night," he said, "and limped up along to holp up your sperrits. Hit hain't right ever to expect too much of human natur', which is a pore, puny, failable contraption at best. Them boys has sp'ilt the summer for us; but I allow by now they feel as bad as anybody about hit. And ricollect, the worst hain't happened—the war hain't started again. I was afeared you might take a notion to leave; but I feel to counsel you to have patience, and stay on with us, and trust in the Lord."
The vesper service was a sad affair—nobody could put much spirit into the singing, or reading, or prayers. Then, suddenly, Uncle Ephraim, in his quavering old voice, raised the words of the ancient hymn, "How firm a foundation," to the quaint but impressive mountain tune; and then depression seemed to flee away, courage and faith to return; real fervor was poured into the song.
As the words of the last verse rolled out over the hills, all unseen to the worshipers a small group of men came down the spur from the ridge top, and stood in the thick shade until the people had all started down the slope. The women, gathered at Pulpit Rock, were about to follow, when the group advanced in a body and stood before them, and they saw with amazement Fult and his friends.