Chapter 3

"He shall call upon me, and I will answer him: I will be with him
in trouble; I will deliver him, and honor him." Psa. xci, 15.

"Alas for hourly change! Alas for all
The loves that from his hand proud Youth lets fall,
Even as the beads of a told rosary!"



That very day Richard received a letter from Bishop Elliott. He was
going to the Holy Land and wished Richard to join him in Rome, and
then accompany him to Palestine. Richard preferred to remain at Hallam,
but both Elizabeth and Phyllis thought he ought to respond to the
Bishop's desire. He was an aged man among strangers, and, apart from
inclination, it seemed to be a duty to accede to his request. So rather
reluctantly Richard left Hallam, half-inclined to complain that
Elizabeth was not sorry enough to part with him. In truth she was
conscious of feeling that it would be pleasant to be a little while
alone with the great joy that had come to her; to consider it quietly,
to brood over it, and to ask some questions of her soul which it must
answer very truthfully.

People of self-contained natures weary even of happiness, if happiness
makes a constant demand upon them. She loved Richard with the first
love of her heart, she loved him very truly and fondly, but she was
also very happy through the long summer days sitting alone, or with
Phyllis, and sewing pure, loving thoughts into wonderful pieces of
fine linen and cambric and embroidery. Sometimes Phyllis helped her,
and they talked together in a sweet confidence of the lovers so dear
to them, and made little plans for the future full of true
unselfishness.

In the cool of the day they walked through the garden and the park
to see Martha; though every day it became a more perplexing and painful
duty. The poor woman, as time went by, grew silent and even stern.
She heeded not any words of pity, she kept apart from the world, and
from all her neighbors, and with heart unwaveringly fixed upon God,
waited with a grand and pathetic patience the answer to her prayers.
For some reason which her soul approved she remained in the little
chapel with her petition, and the preacher going in one day,
unexpectedly, found her prostrate before the communion table, pleading
as mothers only can plead. He knelt down beside her, and took her hand,
and prayed with her and for her.

Quite exhausted, she sat down beside him afterward and said, amid
heart-breaking sobs, "It isn't Ben's life I'm asking, sir. God gave
him, and he's a fair right to tak' him, when and how he will. I hev
given up asking for t' dear lad's life. But O if he'd nobbut clear
his good name o' the shameful deed! I know he's innocent, and God knows
it; but even if they hang Ben