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But he was of no high birth. He was only a son of the people after all. Many, many degrees above herself in respectability it was true, but still a child of the vast multitude. Her last scruple at keeping him vanished at this fact. He would lose nothing by remaining with her, and for his sake she would, she could, become good.
Chapter Twelve
Sunday morning dawned. It would be a whole week to-day since she last had seen her darling little Roy. She felt very, very miserable. No, hope would not visit her heart that day, and as she lay in bed watching Meg putting on her clothes, the tears rolled down her pale cheeks, and dark and sceptical thoughts filled her mind. When Meg noticed her tears, she spoke.
Its all a lie, Meg; its all a big, big lie.
Wots a lie, asked Meg, stopping in her dressing, and staring at Faith.
Wot you telled me about Jesus. He didnt never love the little children; ef He loved em, and ef He is as strong as you say, Hed ha helped us to find my little baby Roy.
A pained look came over Megs white and careworn face. She did not answer Faith at all for a moment or two; but having quite finished her dressing, she bent down over her.
I ha made myself as clean as hever I could, and Im off now to morning ragged school; ef youll come too, Ill wait fur yer, Faithy.
No, no, replied Faith, shaking her head. Ill stay and wait here. The ragged Sunday-schools all about Jesus, and I dont blieve in no Jesus now.
Meg said nothing more; she smothered a faint sigh, and closing the door behind her ran down-stairs. She had more than a mile to walk to Sunday-school, and she was anxious to be in time; but as she walked along, the pained expression called up by Faiths words had not left her face.
Meg was a wild, untaught, uncared-for Arab child, a true offshoot of the lowest of the people. With a touch of gipsy blood in her veins, with the most ungoverned, uncontrolled passions, she yet was capable of a devotion, of an affection self-absorbing, self-forgetful. Offered up at any other shrine,
it would have been idolatry; offered at this, it was worship. Meg loved, something as Mary Magdalene, something as the women who followed to the sepulchre, must have loved our Lord.
All the love of a most loving nature had Meg given to Jesus. It was not alone gratitude which inspired this love. Its jest cause Hes so wonderful beautiful His own self, she would say; and it was agony to her, greater even than it would be to a mother to hear her little child abused, to have a word breathed against Him.
Faiths words had wrung her heart. She was very sorry for Faith, very sorry that she could have so spoken; but she was more sorry for the pain she feared the words must have caused Jesus.
I ope as yerll soon let us find the little un, for shes beginning to think real hard things of yer, and I cant abear em, I cant abear em, said Meg, looking up at the sky, and comforting herself with this very direct little prayer.
As she was leaving the Sunday-school at the end of the mornings lessons, it came into her head that perhaps while she and Faith were so earnestly seeking for little Roy, he might all this time be safely at home. How stupid of them both never to have thought of this before! She had heard all about Faiths respectable home from the little girl herself. Yes; she would go there now and set her mind at rest on this point before returning to Faith.
She reached the house. There was a common staircase, and the hall door stood open. She met no one as she ran up-stairs, and her feet, innocent of shoes and stockings, made no sound. A door was a little open on the first landing, and Meg, peeping in, saw a man seated by a table. He was a tall and powerful man, and Meg knew at once that she was looking at Faiths father.
There was profound silence in the house, and Meg heard the man, whose face was bowed over his hands, presently say:
Its a lie, its all a lie. There is no good God. If there were, He would never have torn my children away from me like this. And I have asked Him so often and so long to bring them back again. Yes; God does not hear prayer. Its a lie, I say. There is no God, no Christ, no nothing.
How dare yer! said Meg, rushing into the room like a little fury. The mans words had stung her so hard that she lost both fear and self-control. She rushed at the man, and took his hands and shook them. How dare yer, how dare yer! she repeated. Oh! yer a wicked, wicked man to say as theres no Jesus Christ.
Warden for it was he started, and stared at the furious little creature. He did not say a word, or attempt in his utter astonishment to oppose her. He only gazed hard, as one who was bereft of all reason.
Oh! there is a Jesus Christ, and you shant dare say there aint, repeated Meg; and then she suddenly flung herself on the floor at his feet, and gave way to the most violent, most passionate sobs he had ever heard proceeding from human breast.
He got up and locked the door; then he got water and gave it to Meg. He was kind rather than otherwise to the poor child. When she was better, he even brought her over to sit on the sofa where little Roy had slept his last sleep in that room.