“No, my sweet miss, I don’t,” answered the Welshwoman. “But I think I know where it’s written, and that’s where the names of the cruel, and selfish, and heartless will never be found.”
“God bless him! God bless him!” said a deep voice from the bed.
The children started; it was the voice of Old Moggy. They had not supposed she was listening, much less that she was capable of speaking. The rest of the children remembered William’s remarks on the previous evening, and all eyes were turned on him. He stood white as ashes, and trembling in every limb. While they had before been speaking, the window had been darkened by a person passing before it. William had remarked it, and he had taken it into his head that it was that of a person come to carry him off to prison for his misdeeds. The rest had been so interested in what they were hearing that they had not observed that a stranger was near them.
“Ye said that she knows the truth; ay, that she does, and practises what the Word of Truth tells us; for instead of railing she blesses, and from her heart forgives them who have ill-treated her,” said Jenny. “Poor, harmless, weary soul that she is! Those young ones who stand there can know little of the sorrows and trials she has been called on to endure. She has seen loss of parents, and property, and husband, and child, and her good name, and all that we think makes life pleasant; and now that she has found her way to this lone place, to die in peace, the Evil One has made these lads come up here to mock and torment her. I mind reading of a good prophet going to a certain village in a foreign land, and the lads came out and mocked him, and called him old bald-head, and what do ye think happened? Why, two she-bears came out of a wood and destroyed forty and two of them. I don’t mean to say that Old Moggy is like the old prophet, but yet she is aged and friendless; and those who abuse and ill-treat her are, in the eyes of the Almighty, doing a great wickedness; that they are, I’m sure.”
While Jenny was speaking, the lips of the sufferer were seen to move; and in the same deep tones which had before been heard, the words came forth, “but forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive them that trespass against us. Yes, yes: oh, I forgive them; they didn’t know any better; they thought I was a witch; they thought I could work charms, and had bad power. Oh! they would not have done as they did if they had known of my weary, weary, aching heart; my poor boy underneath the sea—my husband drowned before my eyes—my sad, sad days, my sleepless nights—my wandering brain—my hunger and thirst—my wretched, wretched life for long, long lonesome years. All these things you did not know of, young gentleman, when you and your companions threw stones at me. Don’t think I would curse you for it. No, no. Come near, my children. I bless you, ay! from my heart, all of you. You who ill-treated me and you who never did me harm.”
Slowly and reluctantly, with awe in their countenances, the children drew still nearer to the bed. The old woman’s voice had dropped through weakness and exhaustion, yet she continued—
“My lot has been very hard, very hard; yet I have had a Friend above who has upheld and comforted me. And yet I have had many trials, many trials, many trials. My brain reels and wanders. I think of my husband and my boy, my only boy, many fathoms deep beneath the cold, cold waves, and then my head turns and my heart changes into stone, and I forget where I am and what has happened.”
The old woman began to ramble, and suddenly burst forth in the wild song which she had been singing on the previous evening.
Jenny Davis shook her head, observing, “She’ll not be right after this for some time. When the fit comes on her there’s no more sense to be looked for till she has had some rest.”
“I will send her up a quieting draught and some wholesome food, which will probably do her more good than any medicine,” said the Doctor, taking Anna’s hand, and motioning the others to move towards the door.