Volume I Part 22 (2/2)
”But what can you do to them?”
”I can tell them of the Lord Jesus, Julia. They have never heard of him; that is why they are so evil.”
”Maybe they won't believe you, Mr. Rhys.”
”Maybe they will. But the Lord has commanded me to go, all the same.”
”How, Mr. Rhys?”
He answered in the beautiful words of Paul--”How shall they believe on him of whom they have not heard? and how shall they hear without a preacher?” There was a sorrowful depth in his tones, speaking to himself rather than to his little listener.
”Mr. Rhys, they are such dreadfully bad people, they might kill you, and eat you.”
”Yes.”
”Are you not afraid?”
”No.”
There is strangely much sometimes expressed, one can hardly say how, in the tone of a single word. So it was with this word, even to the ears of Eleanor in the next room. It was round and sweet, untrembling, with something like a vibration of joy in its low utterance. It was but a word, said in answer to a child's idle question; it pierced like a barbed arrow through all the involutions of another heart, down into the core. It was an accent of strength and quiet and fearless security, though spoken by lips that were very uncertain of their tenure of life.
It gave the chord that Eleanor wanted sounded in her own soul; where now there was no harmony at all, but sometimes a jarring clang, and sometimes an echo of fear.
”But Mr. Rhys, aren't they very _dreadful_, over there where you want to go?” Julia said.
”Very dreadful; more than you can possibly imagine, or than I can, perhaps.”
”Well I hope you won't go. Mr. Rhys, I think Mrs. Williams stays a great while--it is time the kettle was on for your tea.”
Eleanor had hardly time to be astonished at this most novel display of careful housewifery on her little sister's part, whom indeed she would have supposed to be ignorant that such a thing as a kettle existed; when Julia came bounding into the outer room to look after the article, or after the old dame who should take charge of it. She stopped short, and Eleanor raised her head. Julia's exclamation was hearty.
”Hus.h.!.+” whispered Eleanor.
”What should I hush for? there's n.o.body here but Mr. Rhys in the other room; and he was saying the other day that he wanted to see you.”
Back she bounded. ”Mr. Rhys, here's Eleanor in the other room, and no Mrs. Williams.”
Eleanor heard the quiet answer--”Tell your sister, that as I cannot walk out to see her, perhaps she will do me the favour to come in here.”
There was nothing better, in the circ.u.mstances; indeed Eleanor felt she must go in to explain herself; she only waited for Julia's brisk summons--”Eleanor, Mr. Rhys wants to see you!”--and gathering up her habit she walked into the other room as steadily as if she had all the right in the world to be there; bearing herself a little proudly, for a sudden thought of Mr. Carlisle came over her. Mr. Rhys was lying on the couch, as she had seen him before; but she was startled at the paleness of his face, made more startling by the very dark eyebrows and bushy hair. He raised himself on his elbow as she came in, and Eleanor could not refuse to give him her hand.
”I ought to apologise for not rising to receive you,” he said,--”but you see I cannot help it.”
”I am very sorry, Mr. Rhys. Are you less strong than you were a few weeks ago?”
”I seem to have no strength at all now,” he answered with a half laugh.
”Will you not sit down? Julia, suppose you coax the fire to burn a little brighter, for your sister's welcome?”
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