“Do you have any hope of escape?”
“I cannot say that I have any particular hope. I have no plans at all. I leave the matter in God’s hands. He has appointed the time, place and manner of my death, and I cannot die till God’s time arrives. You know in what faith my father has trained me. I will trust my God though He slay me.”
“O, Mildred, I do wish I had such a firm faith as yours. It seems to sustain you under the most fearful circumstances.”
“So it does. Sometimes,” she continued with tears of joy in her eyes, “I feel happy at the thought of so soon going to the blessed mansions which Jesus is preparing for them that love Him.”
“And, sometimes, Mildred, I hate myself for my spiritual infirmities. While you can look upon death as a blessing, I cannot but see in it a calamity—I cannot regard it as anything else—that you should be taken from me and your family in the prime of life, especially—. I cannot finish the sentence.”
“You were going to say,” replied Mildred with perfect calmness, “especially if I should die such a violent death as makes you shudder to contemplate.”
“Yes, yes,” said Ernest in an agitated manner, “it maddens me to think about it. I can never forgive Gen. A. for bringing you into this awful situation.”
“But you must do it, Ernest. God requires it at your hands.”
“O, Mildred, I cannot see the hand of a merciful providence in this misfortune,” suddenly cried Ernest. “It appears cruel.”
“You are very rebellious,” rejoined Mildred gently, “and I am sorry to see it. You will have to learn to guard your tongue and thoughts, or God will mercifully subdue your proud spirit by a worse misfortune.”