“Yes, for some things I suppose so. But, oh! Will, I could not let Harry go as I could let you, sure that he would be kept safe till—”
Graeme laid her head down on her brother’s pillow, and the tears she had been struggling with for so long a time burst forth. She had never spoken to Will of her fears for Harry, but he knew that they all had had cause for anxiety on his account, so instead of speaking he laid his arm over his sister’s neck. She struggled with herself a moment, unable to speak.
“Graeme,” said Will, softly, “we cannot keep Harry safe from evil, and He who can is able to keep him safe there as well as here.”
“I know it; I say it to myself twenty times a day. That is, I say it in words; but I do not seem to get the comfort I might from them.”
“But, Graeme, Harry has been very little away this winter, and I had thought—”
“I know, dear, and I have been quite hopeful about him till lately. But, oh, Will! it won’t bear talking about. We can only wait patiently.”
“Yes, Graeme, we can pray and trust, and you are exaggerating to yourself Harry’s danger, I think. What has happened to make you so faint-hearted, dear?”
“What should have happened, Will? I am tired—for one thing—and something is wrong I know.”
She paused to struggle with her tears.
“Somehow, I don’t feel so anxious about Harry as you do, Graeme. He will come back again. I am sure this great sorrow is not waiting you.”