Tom was weeping, also, and occasionally uttering a smothered ejaculation.

“If we only could keep up to that ar’!” said Tom;—­“it seemed to come so natural to him, and we have to fight so hard for ’t!  O Lord, help us!  O blessed Lord Jesus, do help us!”

“Missis,” said Tom, after a while, “I can see that, some how, you’re quite ’bove me in everything; but there’s one thing Missis might learn even from poor Tom.  Ye said the Lord took sides against us, because he lets us be ’bused and knocked round; but ye see what come on his own Son,—­the blessed Lord of Glory,—­wan’t he allays poor? and have we, any on us, yet come so low as he come?  The Lord han’t forgot us,—­I’m sartin’ o’ that ar’.  If we suffer with him, we shall also reign, Scripture says; but, if we deny Him, he also will deny us.  Didn’t they all suffer?—­the Lord and all his?  It tells how they was stoned and sawn asunder, and wandered about in sheep-skins and goat-skins, and was destitute, afflicted, tormented.  Sufferin’ an’t no reason to make us think the Lord’s turned agin us; but jest the contrary, if only we hold on to him, and doesn’t give up to sin.”

“But why does he put us where we can’t help but sin?” said the woman.

“I think we can help it,” said Tom.

“You’ll see,” said Cassy; “what’ll you do?  Tomorrow they’ll be at you again.  I know ’em; I’ve seen all their doings; I can’t bear to think of all they’ll bring you to;—­and they’ll make you give out, at last!”

“Lord Jesus!” said Tom, “you will take care of my soul?  O Lord, do!—­don’t let me give out!”

“O dear!” said Cassy; “I’ve heard all this crying and praying before; and yet, they’ve been broken down, and brought under.  There’s Emmeline, she’s trying to hold on, and you’re trying,—­but what use?  You must give up, or be killed by inches.”

“Well, then, I will die!” said Tom.  “Spin it out as long as they can, they can’t help my dying, some time!—­and, after that, they can’t do no more.  I’m clar, I’m set!  I know the Lord’ll help me, and bring me through.”

The woman did not answer; she sat with her black eyes intently fixed on the floor.

“May be it’s the way,” she murmured to herself; “but those that have given up, there’s no hope for them!—­none!  We live in filth, and grow loathsome, till we loathe ourselves!  And we long to die, and we don’t dare to kill ourselves!—­No hope! no hope! no hope?—­this girl now,—­just as old as I was!

“You see me now,” she said, speaking to Tom very rapidly; “see what I am!  Well, I was brought up in luxury; the first I remember is, playing about, when I was a child, in splendid parlors,—­when I was kept dressed up like a doll, and company and visitors used to praise me.  There was a garden opening from the saloon windows; and there I used to play hide-and-go-seek, under the orange-trees, with my brothers and sisters.  I went to a convent,