f you
till you dare return.'

'Dare return! If I be not dead, that will I to-morrow.'

She cried out against such insanity.

'You must not. It is wicked with a foolhardy parade to torment us--your
mother.'

'Have no fear, dear. If I come again, it will be with joy, bearing my
sheaves.'

She could put an interpretation on his words that loaded her heart.

'Rhoda, dear sister, I owe you much this day, and now I will ask for one
thing more.'

She said 'Yes,' though foreboding ordeal. It was a minute before he
spoke.

'Will you pray for us?'

Poor heart, how could she? Anything but that.

'What worth are the prayers of such an one as I? Desire rather your
mother's prayers.'

'She for another cause will be praying the night through. Will you do as
much for us?'

He stopped her, for she did not speak, and held her by the shoulders,
trying to see her face to get answered.

'O Rhoda, will you not pray for us?'

She made her answer singular. 'I will pray for thee'; but his greater
want overcame her into ending: 'and--for Diadyomene.'

He stood stock-still and gripped her hard when that name came, but he
asked nothing. 'I will, I will,' she whispered; and then he kissed her
brow and said: 'God bless you.' She flung her arms round his neck without
reserve; her cheek lay against his bare breast, and because she felt a
cross there she dared to turn her lips and kiss. He gathered her to close
embrace, so that swept from her feet she lay in his arms rapt for one
precious instant from all the world.

When he had set her on her feet, when he had blessed her many times, she
clung to him still, heaving great sobs, till he had to pluck away her
hands.

'Yes, go,' she said. 'I will pray for you both,' and down she knelt
straightway.

'God be with you.'

'God be with you.'

He passed from her into the darkness, away from sorrows she knew to some
unknown. Rhoda, flung prostrate, wept bitterly, rending her heart for the
getting of very prayer for that unknown woman, her bane.

Too little thought Christian, though he loved her well, of her who so
faithfully went on his bidding, trudging wearily on to make good his
word, kneeling afterwards through the long hours in prayer that was
martyrdom. If the value of prayer lie in the cost, hers that night
greatly should avail.

CHAPTER XV

Late knocking came importunate to the House Monitory. One went to the
wicket and looked out. Her light, convulsed, for an in