Faith was excited herself, and spoke slowly and low and with hindered breath.
"I saw they were getting more and more furious,—and there were a few minutes, Mr. Linden, when I thought I should maybe never see home again.—And then I thanked you in my heart."
"Me?" he said with quick emphasis, and looking at her.
Faith did not look at him, but after a pause went on very quietly.
"I mean, on earth I thanked you. The end of it was, they took a new fright at something, I believe, just at the top of a hill; and after that it was all a whirl. I hardly knew anything—till I found myself lying on the ground in the meadow. The horses had jumped the carriage and all clean over the fence. The fence was just below the foot of the hill; the road took a turn there.—Sam told you the rest—didn't he, Mr. Linden?"
He said "yes," and not another word, but lay there still with those closely shielded eyes; and lips unbent from their usual repose, with grave humbleness and grief and joy. The silence lasted till Faith spoke again. And that was some little space of time. A shade graver and lower her tone was when she spoke.
"I shall never forget after this, that it is 'part of a Christian's sailing-orders to speak every vessel he meets.'—I think I shall never forget it again."
Mr. Linden did look then at the little craft that had begun her voyage so undauntedly under the Christian colours, though what he thought of her he said not; apparently his own words were not yet ready, though he spoke.
"'Be strong and of a good courage; be not afraid, neither be thou dismayed: for the Lord thy God is with thee whithersoever thou goest.'"
Faith spoke no more. She sat in the absolutest quiet, of face and figure both; looking into the fire that played in the chimney, with a fixedness that perhaps told—in the beginning—of some doubtfulness of self command. But the happy look of the face was in nowise changed.