“What can be worse than this?” cried Ernest bitterly. “I would be better reconciled if I were in your place.”
“Then, perhaps, God is now causing you to pass under the chastening rod by allowing the misfortune, as you call it, to befall me. The loss of my life, at this time, may be necessary to the accomplishment of some good purpose. Suppose I should die, the separation from my loved ones will not be long. Thank God! We will all soon meet under brighter skies, where no cannon roars, no tear is shed, no sickness comes, no death invades, but where there is universal peace, joy and love.”
“O, Mildred,” exclaimed Ernest, “you are so much better than I am. You are as pure as the angels, and I am not worthy of you. I I wish I could believe this Presbyterian doctrine as you do. I can see that it is this which enables you to bear up under the darkest trials, and in the face of death.”
“I am not so good and pure as you seem to believe,” answered Mildred, “but I am glad to say I fully endorse the doctrines of the Presbyterian Church. Yet there are moments when the spirit of rebellion rises up in me. Frequently I find myself shedding tears.”
“I do not see how you can help it,” said Ernest in surprise. “Surely there is no rebellion in that.”
“I fear there is,” replied Mildred. “It seems like anticipating God’s purposes. What is the use of grieving over a misfortune that may never come? God may send deliverance in some very unexpected way. Nothing is too hard for Him.”
“O, Mildred, I feel as helpless as a child. I have worked my way into this city, and now, having found you, I can do nothing. You have had no trial, I infer.”
“No, not yet.”
“You may have to languish here for months before they reach your case. I know something about the military courts.”
“Probably you will put your own life in jeopardy by remaining here,” said Mildred. “You can be of no advantage to me and you would better return.”