‘Amanda, here's Mr. Penrose to see thee. I've bin tellin' him it's all dark to thee. It is, isn't it?’
But Amanda turned her head towards the wall, and answered not.
‘Amanda!’ said the mother, in tones that only once or twice, and that in the great crises of maternity, fall from woman's lips—‘Amanda, speyk. Tell him what's botherin' thee.’
But the girl was silent.
Mr. Penrose was silent also, and nothing was heard in the room save the tremulous beat of an old watch that hung over the chimney-shelf—one of the memorials of a husband and father long since taken, and now almost forgotten.
At last Amanda, without turning her face towards the pastor, said:
‘Sir, I'm a sinner—a lost sinner.’
‘No, you are not,’ replied Mr. Penrose.
And overawed and astonished with the boldness of his statement, he relapsed into silence.