"Yes, they are, Mollie. Don't stop praying," said Noddy, who knew that the poor girl had derived a great deal of hope and comfort from her prayers.
He had seen her kneel down when she was almost overcome by the horrors which surrounded them, and rise as calm and hopeful as though she had received a message direct from on high. Perhaps he had no real faith in her prayers, but he saw what strength she derived from them. Certainly they had not warded off the pestilence, which was still seeking new victims on board. But they were the life of Mollie's struggling existence; and it was with the utmost sincerity that he had counselled her to continue them.
"My father will die!" groaned the poor girl. "Nothing can save him now."
"No, he won't die. He isn't very bad yet, Mollie."
"O, yes, he is. He does not speak to me; he does not know me."
"He is doing very well, Mollie. Don't give it up yet."
"I feel that he will soon leave me."
"No, he won't, Mollie. I know he will get well," said Noddy, with the most determined emphasis.
"How do you know?"
"I feel that he will. He isn't half so bad as Mr. Watts was. Cheer up, and he will be all right in a few days."