Still with her arms outstretched she spoke to the Lord and reviled Him. She clenched her hands in anger at times as her speech waxed more wrathful. In much compassion I would have gone in and closed the door, but as I was on the point of doing so, she, with one of those quick and nervous thrills that so often belong to dementia, saw me and pointed to me. She would have spoken, but I saw friend Afton's hand suddenly close about her waist, draw her forcibly from my view, and close the door between us.
"The Lord is mighty," I said to myself, and called to mind that youth among the tombs so long ago—that youth that they of old said was possessed of devils, and whom the pitying Man of Sorrows called upon to be free from torments.
In the morning friend Afton explained that I need have no fear.
"I think thee fails to comprehend that we Friends neglect one thing in our training, and that is fear," said I.
"And poor Mrs. Jordan won't make thou look for another boarding-house, sir?" asked she.
"Friend Jordan assuredly will not," said I, "but friend Afton may, if thee will pardon my abruptness, which seems to wound thee."
"How?"
"Thee has thy language, friend—I have mine. I do not stop to say 'you' to thee because thy mode is not as mine: then thee might be as free with me, and say 'you' to me, just as thee would if my plain garb were changed for a Joseph's coat."
"I thought I was polite in doing it," said she.
"Thank thee. Thee may be that, but thee is scarcely truthful; and all due politeness, as thee terms it, must be truthful, or it is called deceit."