"Mr. Rhys," said Eleanor, "what can I do?"
"Are you ready to encounter disagreeablenesses, and hardships, and privations, in the work?"
"Yes; and discouragements."
"There are no such things. There ought to be no such things. I never feel nor have felt discouraged. That is want of faith. Do you remember, Eleanor, 'The clouds are the dust of his feet?' Think—our eyes are blinded by the dust, we look at nothing else, and we do not see the glory of the steps that are taken."
"That is true. O Mr. Rhys, that is glorious!"
"Then you are not afraid? I forewarn you, little annoyances are sometimes harder to bear than great ones. It is one of the most trying things that I have to meet," said Mr. Rhys standing still with a funny face,—"to have Ra Mbombo's beard sweep my plate when I am at dinner."
"What does he do that for?"
"He is so fond of me."
"That is being too fond, certainly."
"It is an excess of affectionate attention,—he gets so close to me that we have a community of things. And you will have, Eleanor, some days, a perpetual levee of visitors. But what is all that, for Christ?"