Elizabeth threw aside a little of her reserve. She spoke freely to Richard of all her plans and fears and hopes. She no longer was shy in admitting her affection for him, her happiness in his presence, her loneliness without him. It was easy for Richard to see that she was gladly casting away every feeling that stood between them. One morning, at the end of October, Elizabeth put on her mantle and bonnet and went to see Martha Craven. She walked slowly, as a person walks who has an uncertain purpose. Her face had a shadow on it; she sighed frequently, and was altogether a different Elizabeth from the one who had gone, two days before, the same road with quick, firm tread and bright, uplifted face. Martha saw her coming, and hasted to open the gate; but when Elizabeth perceived that Ben's wife was within, she said, "Nay, Martha, I don't want to stay. Will you walk back part of the way with me?" "Ay, for sure! I'll nobbut get my shawl, Miss Hallam. I was turning thee over i' my mind when, I saw thee coming. Is there aught wrong?" "Why do you ask, Martha?" "Nay, I'm sure I can't tell; only I can see fine that thou ar'n't same as thou was yesterday." They were just entering the park, and Elizabeth stood musing while Martha closed the gates. Then, after walking a few yards, she said, "Martha, do you believe the dead can speak to the living?" "Ay, I do. If t' living will hear, t' dead will speak. There's good men--and John Wesley among 'em--who lived w' one foot i' this world, and one in t' other. I would think man or woman hed varry little o' t' next world about 'em, who hed nivver seen or heard any thing from it. Them that hev sat weeping on their bedside at midnight--them that hev prayed death away from t' cradle side--them that hev wrestled a' night long, as Jacob did, they know whether t' next world visits this world or not. Hev you seen aught, Miss Hallam?" "I have seen my father, Martha. Indeed I have." "I don't doubt it, not a minute. He'd hev a reason for coming." "He came to remind me of a duty and to strengthen me for it. Ah, Martha, Martha! If this cup could pass from me! if this cup could pass from me!" "Honey, dear, what can Martha do for thee? Ivery Christian some time or other comes to Gethsemane. I hev found that out. Let this cup pass, Lord. Didn't I pray that prayer mysen, night and day?" "Surely, Martha, about Ben--and God let it pass. But he does not always let it pass when we ask him." "Then he does what is happen better--if we hev t' heart to trust him--he sends an angel to strengthen us to drink it. I hev seen them as drank it wi' thanksgiving." "O Martha! I am very, very sorrowful about it." "And varry often, dearie, it is God's will for us to go forward--thou knows what I mean--to make a Calvary of our breaking hearts, and offer there t' sacrifice that is dearest and hardest. Can ta tell me what ta fears, dearie?"