“Leave her, my dear friend,” said I, “in the hands of Him who sees deeper into the heart than it is possible for our eyes to penetrate. Her feet have left the soft, flowery ways they trod for a time, and turned into rough paths, where every footfall is upon sharp stones; but it may be that a blessed land is smiling beyond, he has been astray in the world, and God may only be leading her homeward by the way of sorrow.”
Mrs. Floyd wept freely as I talked.
“His will be done,” she said, sobbing.
“Your daughter,” said I, taking the occasion to bear my testimony on the favorable side, “has been wronged without question. She was doubtless imprudent, but not sinful; and the present attempt to disgrace her I regard as a cruel wrong. It will recoil, I trust, in a way not dreamed of.”
“O Doctor, let me thank you for such words.”
And Mrs. Floyd caught my arm with an eager movement.
“I speak soberly, madam, and from observation and reflection. And I trust to see Delia live and triumph over her enemies.”
“Won't you talk with the Squire, Doctor?” She still grasped my arm. “He will not hear a word from me in favor of Delia. Mr. Dewey has completely blinded him.”
“Wait patiently, Mrs. Floyd,” said I, in a tone of encouragement. “Your daughter is not without friends. There are those upon her side, who have the will and the power to defend her; and they will defend her, I believe successfully.”
A sigh fluttered through the room, causing us both to turn quickly towards the bed on which Mrs. Dewey was lying. Her lips were moving slightly; but no change appeared on her death-like face. I laid my fingers upon her wrist, and searched for her pulse. It was very low and thread-like; but with more vitality than on the occasion of my first visit to her in the morning.