“I hope ye’v hed a pleasint chat with the leddy,” said the Irishman.
“Yes, but let me bid her adieu.”
“Certainly ye may, an’ I’ll move mesilf off so’s I may’nt hear your swate words. I know how ’tis with Biddy, mesilf.”
“Mildred,” said Ernest, “the sentinel will not permit us to converse longer. I must leave you and I know not when I can see you again. The next guard may not be as kind as this one.”
“Where are you going?” she asked.
“Not far. My room is on this floor. I shall watch for any chance for saving you that may arise. God bless you. Good-by.”
“Good-by. Pray for me.”
“I need to ask your prayers,” replied Ernest. The young man turned sorrowfully away, went to his room, fell upon his knees, and cried to God in anguish of spirit. He prayed that he might have the sublime faith of Mildred. He felt humbled under a sense of his helplessness.
It seems to be natural to us to cry to the Supreme Being in the hours of distress. The most immoral men will pray to God when misfortunes come upon them. They have no faith in it, but the inner soul becomes frightened; it almost proclaims its independence of its physical environments, and expresses its wants through the reluctant organs of the body. Therefore, wicked men pray in times of danger.
