'Before that,' he says, 'I was a servant of God, accepted and
safe, but now I _knew it_.'"
Elizabeth did not again reply. She sat very still, her hand clasped
in that of Phyllis, whose head was leaning upon her breast. And very
frequently she glanced down at the pale, spiritual face with its
luminous dark eyes and sweet mouth. For Phyllis had to perfection that
lovely, womanly charm, which puts itself _en rapport_ with every
mood, and yet only offers the sympathy of a sensitive silence and an
answering face.
As the women sat musing the moon rose, and then up sprang the night
breeze, laden with the perfume of bleaching grass, and all the hot,
sweet scents of the south.
"How beautiful is this land!" said Richard, in an enthusiasm. "What
a pity the rabble of other lands cannot be kept out of it!"
The preacher lifted his head with a quick belligerent motion: "There
is no such thing, as rabble, sir. For the meanest soul Christ paid
down his precious blood. What you call 'rabble' are the builders of
kingdoms and nationalities."
"Yes," said John, "I dare say if we could see the fine fellows who
fought at Hastings, and those who afterward forced Magna Charta from
King John without the poetic veil of seven hundred years, we should
be very apt to call them 'rabble' also. Give the founders of Texas
the same time, and they may also have a halo round their heads.
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