"'Dearly beloved, know this, that Almighty God is the Lord of life and death, and of all things to them pertaining; as'"—
"Archibald," said Mr. Denner faintly, "you will excuse me, but this is not—not necessary, as it were."
Dr. Howe looked at him blankly, the prayer-book closing in his hand.
"I mean," Mr. Denner added, "if you will allow me to say so, the time for—for speaking thus has passed. It is now, with me, Archibald."
There was a wistful look in his eyes as he spoke.
"I know," answered Dr. Howe tenderly, thinking that the Visitation of the Sick must wait, "but God enters into now; the Eternal is our refuge, a very present help in time of trouble."
"Ah—yes"—said the sick man; "but I should like to approach this from our usual—point of view, if you will be so good. I have every respect for your office, but would it not be easier for us to speak of—of this as we have been in the habit of speaking on all subjects, quite—in our ordinary way, as it were? You will pardon me, Archibald, if I say anything else seems—ah—unreal?"
Dr. Howe rose and walked to the window. He stood there a few minutes, but the golden June day was dim, and there was a tightening in his throat that kept him silent. When he came back to the bedside, he stood, looking down at the sick man, without speaking. Mr. Denner was embarrassed.
"I did not mean to pain you," he said.
"William," the rector answered, "have I made religion so worthless? Have I held it so weakly that you feel that it cannot help you now?"