"Mrs. Mowbray, I don't see how a man could."
"By the grace of God."
"I suppose, by that one could do anything," said Rotha thoughtfully.
Silence fell, which Mrs. Mowbray would not break. She watched the girl's face, which shewed thoughts working and some struggle going on. The struggle was so absorbing, that Rotha did not notice the silence, nor know how long it lasted.
"Then—you think—" she began,—"according to—that I ought—"
The words came slowly and with some inner protest. Mrs. Mowbray rose.
"It is no matter what I think. The decision must be made by yourself independently. Study it, and pray over it; and I pray you may decide rightly."
"But if you thought, Mrs. Mowbray—" Rotha began.
"It is not I whom you have to obey, my child. I think your case is not an easy one; it would not be for me; I believe it would rouse all the wickedness there is in me; but, as you said, by the grace of God one can do anything. I shall pray for you, my dear."
She left the room, though Rotha would fain have detained her. It was much easier to talk than to act; and now she was thrown back upon the necessity for action. She sat leaning over the Bible, looking at the words; uncompromising, simple, clear words, but so hard, so hard, to obey! "If he compel thee to go a mile, go with him twain." And then Rotha's will took such a hold of her stockings, that it seemed as if she never could let them go. It was injustice! it was oppression! it was extortion! it was more, something else that Rotha could not define. Yes, true, but—"if he take away thy coat, let him have thy cloak also."