I nodded, and motioned for her to keep quiet. "Does thee think thee would like to talk to me a while?" I asked.
"Not now, for I only want to talk with them. But tell me, Quaker—tell me if you want one thing more than any other in this world, and I will ask them to give it to you. Is there any one that you want to love you? For they can easily help you, as they have made me love you, and made you be good to me."
"Nay, friend," I said, "even the light from the stars cannot make one care for me who would not."
Then she cried out that I was sorrowful, and that I made her heart heavy—I who had always been a comfort and a guidance before.
"I will be so to thee now," I said.
"Then give me rest," she cried.
"The Lord knows I would give thee rest, O soul! if I could."
She looked at me most suddenly—I may say as a flash—and quickly glanced in at my room.
"Then I think I can rest in your room," she said.
"Thee shall do so."