The girl did so, and the strange woman, taking the little taper in her hand, approached Dalton, and looking with a gaze almost fearfully solemn and searching into his face.
“You are Condy Dalton?” she asked.
“I am,” said he.
“Answer me now,” she proceeded, “as if you were in the presence of God at judgment, are you happy?”
Mrs. Dalton, who felt anxious for many reasons, to relieve her unfortunate husband from this unexpected and extraordinary catechist, hastened to reply for him.
“How, honest woman, could a man be happy who is in a state of such destitution, or who has had such misfortunes as he has had;” and as she spoke her eyes filled with tears of compassion for her husband.
“Don't break it upon me,” said the woman, solemnly, “but let me ax my question, an' let him give his answer. In God's name and presence, are you a happy man?”
“I can't speak a lie to that, for I must yet meet my judge—I am not.”
“You have one particular thought that makes you unhappy.”
“I have one particular thought that makes me unhappy.”