Thy father had not come to his bed but that was no care
to me; he often sat reading or figuring half the night through. It was
Stephen Hatton's way--but suddenly I heard a voice--the voice of a man
praying. That is a sound, my dears, you can never mistake. When the soul
speaks to its God and its Father, it has a different voice to the one a
man uses with his fellowmen, when he talks to them about warps and yarns
and shillings.
"There was a soft, restful murmur of running water from the little beck
by the rose garden, but far above it rose the voice of a man in strong
urgent prayer. It came from the summer-house among the rose-trees, and
as I listened, I knew it was your father's voice. Then I was frightened.
Perhaps God would not like me to listen to what was only meant for His
ear. I came away from the open window and sat down and waited.
"In a short time your father came to me. I could see that he had been
praying. I could feel the spirit above the flesh. A great awe was over
him and he was strangely loving and gentle.
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