"God, you women!" he said to me under his breath, but I avoided his eye
and he drove us silently to the Poplars. The long halls were quiet and
empty in the anxious hush of the whole house which was keeping its
life--or death watch. I led Martha to the room that opened into mine, in
which all of the girl guests of the Poplars always slept, and made her
take off her hat and make the boy comfortable. Then I went for Dabney
and asked him to take food to them.
"Yes'm, I will. God love my little miss," was his answer, and I knew
that I could trust his kindness to Martha and the boy.
Then I went into the library to father. I found Mr. Goodloe with him and
father's calm under his anxious suffering gave me a thrill at the
thought of the regained strength it implied. The parson's face was
grave, but full of a white light from the fire burning back under the
dull gold brows. His warm hands took my cold ones in them and pressed
them palm to palm in the attitude of prayer and very tenderly, from his
soul to mine, he said: "'The Lord is good, for his mercy endureth forever.'"
"Forever?" I asked him, looking up with the child's faith that had been
born in my heart shining in the confidence in my eyes.
"Forever," he answered me with quiet authority.
"Yes," said father solemnly, as if himself reassured after doubts. Then,
after a second's pause: "Daughter, Nickols is conscious and is asking
for you. Will you go to him?"
I took my hands out of those which had given to mine the strength of
prayer and went.