Here the singer came to a little stile, fifty yards in advance of Jonathan, passed over it into the highway, and went forward, singing,
"Dear heart. I have found the Master.
He is sweet beyond compare;
He will save and comfort the weary soul.
He will make thee white and fair.
Not as I gave will He give,
But wine divine and rare."
"Sarah!"
"He is with me in the tumult
Of the city harsh and dim;
And at evening by the fountain.
Where I sit and sing to Him.
Now He wears a veil of shadows
On the face divine and fair,
But His angels whisper to me,
'There will be no shadows there."
"Sarah!"
She turned and stood still until Jonathan reached her.
"I thought it was thy voice I heard in Barton Woods. Eh, lass! I am glad to see thee. Is all well wi' thee?"
"I try to think so, master. One mustn't expect too much o' this life."
"Steve's loom has stood still varry often lately. It's enough to try anybody's patience. It is that"
