“But you are not wedded to sin, dearest. Such thoughts can give you no pleasure. Come with me to church! Come and pray! Prayer will do you good.” “I would rather pray here. Let me remain. I will try to go out among the hills when you are all engaged in church, and will pray there. Indeed I must. I must pray then and pray there, if prayer is ever to do me good.” “The church is the better place, Margaret. One prays better where one sees that all are praying.” “But when I KNOW that they are not praying! When I know that envy is in their hearts, and malice, and jealousy and suspicion--that God is not in their hearts, but their fellow; and not him with friendly and fond, but with spiteful and deceitful thoughts!” “Ah! Margaret, how can you know this? Judge not lest ye be judged.” “It matters not, dear Mrs. Thackeray. God is here, or there. He will be among the hills if anywhere. I will seek him there. If I can command my thoughts anywhere, it will be in the woods alone. In the church I can not. Those who hate me are there--and their looks of hate would only move my scorn and defiance.” “Margaret, you do our people wrong. You do yourself wrong. None hate you--none will point to you, or think of your misfortune; and if they did, it is only what you might expect, and what you must learn patiently to bear, as a part of the punishment which God inflicts on sin. You must submit, Margaret, to the shame as you have submitted to the sin. It is by submission only that you can be made strong. The burden which you are prepared to bear meekly, becomes light to the willing spirit. Come, dear Margaret, I will keep with you, sit by you--show you, and all, that I forget your sin and remember only your suffering.” The good widow spoke with the kindest tones. She threw her arms around the neck of the desolate one, and kissed her with the affection of a sister. But the demon of pride was uppermost. She withstood entreaty and embrace. “I can not go with you. I thank you, truly thank you, dear Mrs. Thackeray, but I can not go. I have neither the courage nor the strength.” “They will come--the courage and the strength--only try. God is watchful to give us help the moment he sees that we really seek his assistance. By prayer, Margaret--” “I will pray, but I must pray alone. Among the hills I will pray. My prayer will not be less acceptable offered among his hills. My voice will not remain unheard, though no chorus swells its appeal.” “Margaret, this is pride.” “Perhaps!” “Ah! go with me, and pray for humility.” “My prayer would rather be for death.” “Say not so, Margaret--this is impiety.” “Ay, death!--the peace, the quiet of the grave--of a long sleep--an endless sleep--where the vulture may no longer gnaw the heart, nor the fire burn within the brain! For these I must pray.” And, thus speaking, the unhappy woman smote her throbbing head with violent hand.