"I have thought so but you say he always was that. If you will permit me to say so, I have thought the same of you, Miss Fleda."
Fleda was silent: her heart ached again.
"We would gladly save each other from every threatening trouble," said Mr. Olmney again, after a pause; "but it ought to content us that we do not know how. Hugh is in good hands, my dear Miss Ringgan."
"I know it, Sir," said Fleda, unable quite to keep back her tears; "and I know very well this thread of our life will not bear the strain always and I know that the strands must, in all probability, part unevenly and I know it is in the power of no blind fate but that "
"Does not lessen our clinging to each other. O no! it grows but the tenderer and the stronger for the knowledge."
Fleda could but cry.
"And yet," said he, very kindly, "we who are Christians may and ought to learn to take troubles hopefully, for 'tribulation worketh patience, and patience,' that is, quiet waiting on God, 'works experience' of his goodness and faithfulness; and 'experience worketh hope,' and that 'hope,' we know, 'maketh not ashamed.' "
"I know it," said Fleda; "but, Mr. Olmney, how easily the brunt of a new affliction breaks down all that chain of reasoning!"
"Yes!" he said, sadly and thoughtfully; "but, my dear Miss Fleda, you know the way to build it up again. I would be very glad to bear all need for it away from you."
They had reached the gate. Fleda could not look up to thank him; the hand she held out was grasped, more than kindly, and he turned away.