"I know how it goes on. I know what he did. But he will not do that— here."
"Yes, he will. Not immediately, but by and by."
"I don't care for by and by."
"Yes you do, Rotha. By and by the Lord Jesus will come again; and when he comes he will send his angels to gather up and bring to him all his people who are then living, scattered about in the world, and at the same time all his people who once lived and have died shall be raised up. Then will come your dear mother, with the rest, in beauty and glory."
"But," said Rotha, bursting out into violent sobs, "I don't know where I shall be!"—
The paroxysm of tears and sobs that followed, startled Mr. Digby; it was so extreme in its passion beyond anything he had ever seen in his life; even beyond her passion on the sea shore. It seemed as if the girl must almost strangle in her convulsive oppression of breath. He tried soothing words, and he tried authority; and both were as vain as the recoil of waves from a rock. The passion spent itself by degrees, and was succeeded by a more gentle, persistent rain of tears which fell quietly.
"Rotha," said Mr. Digby gravely, "that is not right."
"Very likely," she answered. "How are you going to help it?"
"I cannot; but you can."
"I can't!" she exclaimed, with almost a cry. "When it comes, I must."