"You must not think to make your departure, not for many days," said the
German presently. "Tant Sannie gives her consent, and--"

"My friend," said Bonaparte, closing his eyes sadly, "you are kind; but
were it not that tomorrow is the Sabbath, weak and trembling as I lie
here, I would proceed on my way. I must seek work; idleness but for a
day is painful. Work, labour--that is the secret of all true happiness!"

He doubled the pillar under his head, and watched how the German drew
the leather thongs in and out.

After a while Lyndall silently put her book on the shelf and went
home, and the German stood up and began to mix some water and meal for
roaster-cakes. As he stirred them with his hands he said:

"I make always a double supply on Saturday night; the hands are then
free as the thoughts for Sunday."

"The blessed Sabbath!" said Bonaparte.

There was a pause. Bonaparte twisted his eyes without moving his head,
to see if supper were already on the fire.

"You must sorely miss the administration of the Lord's word in this
desolate spot," added Bonaparte. "Oh, how love I Thine house, and the
place where Thine honour dwelleth!"

"Well, we do; yes," said the German; "but we do our best. We meet
together, and I--well, I say a few words, and perhaps they are not
wholly lost, not quite."

"Strange coincidence," said Bonaparte; "my plan always was the same.
Was in the Free State once--solitary farm--one neighbour. Every Sunday
I called together friend and neighbour, child and servant, and said,
'Rejoice with me, that we may serve the Lord,' and then I addressed
them. Ah, those were blessed times," said Bonaparte; "would they might
return."

The German stirred at the cakes, and stirred, and stirred, and stirred.
He could give the stranger his bed, and he could give the stranger his
hat, and he could give the stranger his brandy; but his Sunday service!

After a good while he said:

"I might speak to Tant Sannie; I might arrange; you might take the
service in my place, if it--"

"My friend," said Bonaparte, "it would give me the profoundest felicity,
the most unbounded satisfaction; but in these worn-out habiliments, in
these deteriorated garments, it would not be possible, it would not be
fitting that I should officiate in service of One whom, for respect, we
shall not name. No, my friend, I will remain here; and, while you are
assembling yourselves together in the presence of the Lord, I, in my
solitude, wi