She gestured and he caught her hand. "Please don't," she pleaded, slowly taking her hand away. "Please don't talk that way. You know I told you that you had revived my faith in man, after it had gasped and died. But you spoke a resurrecting word and—"
"But would my dreaming again and again that I had heard you call me Jim—would that kill it again? Honey,—I—I beg your pardon. I am used to talking to children, and I call them by pet names. I beg your pardon."
She looked far away, at the blue water rippling down the hills. "If in your sight I could be as a little child."
"Ma'm, I lead a child, but you could lead me."
"To walk with you, Mr. Reverend, would be along the upward path, toward the sunrise."
"Ma'm, you make me think of Christian when he stood with clasped hands, looking up at the golden city where they sang, 'holy, holy.'"
"How could I make you think of that, Mr. Reverend?"
"Walking with me toward the sunrise. Ah, but the wild briar would tear your dress."
"But haven't the briars torn your flesh?"
He pointed upward. "Ah, and a wound in His service is balm to the soul."