“Thank me for nothing,” said Alice; “I am but selfish in all. The rather return thanks to the Lord for all his mercies.”
“True, He is the great fountain of goodness, and his greatest of all blessings to me, Alice, is bestowed in thyself.”
“I fear thou art conversing too much,” said Alice, after a moment’s pause, “and I would not that a relapse should retard this projected escape a single day. Therefore I will give thee a cordial, and thou must endeavor to rest again.”
So saying, she administered a soothing potion, and, seating herself by his side, she watched him until he fell into a peaceful slumber. Then, stealing so noiselessly away from his pallet that her footsteps were inaudible, she gently approached the door, and groped along a gallery—for it was now dark—until she reached another door. It communicated with a cell similar in all respects to that we have described.
Within this, before a table, sat the figure of a solitary man. He was elderly, but seemed more bent by some recent sorrow than by the actual weight of years; yet his brow was somewhat wrinkled, and his locks in many places, much silvered with gray. But his countenance was remarkable, for it evinced a grandeur and dignity of soul even through its trouble. Beside him, upon the table, burned a solitary candle, whose long wick shed a blue and flickering light upon the page of a Bible open before him.
Unlatching the door, Alice paused, for the clear and deep voice of the inmate fell upon her ear: “Behold, happy is the man whom God correcteth: therefore, despise not thou the chastening of the Almighty: for he maketh sore, and bindeth up; he woundeth, and his hands make whole. He shall deliver thee in six troubles: yea, in seven, there shall no evil touch thee.”
Advancing, Alice threw her arms affectionately round the neck of the person we have described, and interrupted the reading, which, even more than her occasional visits, was his chief stay and solace in his imprisonment.
“Thou wilt rejoice with me, my father, that William is recovering. All that is needful now is for him to gather strength sufficient to quit this place. I trust that ere six weeks have elapsed, we shall be on our way to America.”
“Forget not, my child, Him to whom thy thanks are due for thy husband’s prospect of recovery. Remember the Lord in the midst of his mercies.”
“I do, my father, and we will return praises together ere I leave you.”