It needed only that something should be proposed for them to do. The man of the house took his prayer-book, and they all knelt. Others came in and filled the room, frightened children cowering close to their elders, and watching the door, as if they expected to see a foe enter.
Edith went slowly out. One of the women had kindly put a shawl over her shoulders, but she was quite unconscious of the storm. The town clock was striking twelve, and as she stopped to count its strokes, the chorus of praying voices reached her through the open door:
“Jesus, King of Glory, have mercy on us!
Jesus, the Sun of Justice, have mercy on us!”
“O Sun of Justice!” she repeated, and lifted her clasped hands.
She went on, but heard again, in a pause of the storm:
“Jesus, most patient, have mercy on us!
Jesus, most obedient, have mercy on us!”
“Ah! yes, patience! It is not for us to invoke justice,” she thought.
“‘Enter not into judgment with thy servant, O Lord! for in thy sight shall no man living be justified.’”
The road was heavy with mud, and in the darkness she scarcely could find her way. Only the occasional twinkle of a lighted window told where it did not lie. She went wearily, for the spirit that had sustained her while there was hope failed now, and the storm grew every minute worse. In another lull there came again, more faintly:
“Jesus, the good Shepherd, have mercy on us!
Jesus, the true Light, have mercy on us!”