“They will come—the courage and the strength—only try. God is watchful to give us help the moment he sees that we really seek his assistance. By prayer, Margaret—”
“I will pray, but I must pray alone. Among the hills I will pray. My prayer will not be less acceptable offered among his hills. My voice will not remain unheard, though no chorus swells its appeal.”
“Margaret, this is pride.”
“Perhaps!”
“Ah! go with me, and pray for humility.”
“My prayer would rather be for death.”
“Say not so, Margaret—this is impiety.”
“Ay, death!—the peace, the quiet of the grave—of a long sleep—an endless sleep—where the vulture may no longer gnaw the heart, nor the fire burn within the brain! For these I must pray.”
And, thus speaking, the unhappy woman smote her throbbing head with violent hand.
“Shocking thought! But you do not believe in such a sleep? Surely, Margaret, you believe in life eternal?”