You must not talk about _may;_ it is
all _must._"
Mary had never heard her father talk like this, and,
notwithstanding the endless interest of his words, it frightened
her. An instinctive uneasiness crept up and laid hold of her. The
unsealing hand of Death was opening the mouth of a dumb prophet.
A pause followed, and he spoke again.
"I will tell you one thing now that Jesus says: he is
unchangeable; what he says once he says always; and I mention it
now, because it may not be long before you are specially called
to mind it. It is this: _'Let not your heart be troubled.'_"
"But he said that on one particular occasion, and to his
disciples--did he not?" said Mary, willing, in her dread, to give
the conversation a turn.
"Ah, Mary!" said her father, with a smile, "_will_ you let
the questioning spirit deafen you to the teaching one? Ask
yourself, the first time you are alone, what the disciples were
not to be troubled about, and why they were not to be troubled
about it.--I am tired, and should like to go to bed."
He rose, and stood for a moment in front of the fire, winding his
old double-cased silver watch. Mary took from her side the little
gold one he had given her, and, as was her custom, handed it to
him to wind for her. The next moment he had dropped it on the
fender.
"Ah, my child!" he cried, and, stooping, gathered up a dying
thing, whose watchfulness was all over.
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