“Nay, mother, I’m not beef hungry.  I’ll have the apple pie, and a pitcher of new milk.”

“And then thou must go to bed and settle thyself with a good, deep sleep.”

“To be sure, mother.  Joy tires a man as trouble does, but a deep sleep will rest and steady me.”

So John went to the deep, steadying sleep he needed; it was Mrs. Hatton who watched the midnight hours away in anxious thought and careful forebodings.  She had not worried much about Harry’s passion for Lucy Lugur.  She was sure that his Mediterranean trip would introduce him to girls so much lovelier than Lucy that he would practically have forgotten her when he returned.  Harry had been in love with half a dozen girls before Lucy.  She let Harry slip out of her consideration.

John’s case was different.  It was vitally true and intense.  She understood that John must marry or be miserable, and she faced the situation with brimming eyes and a very heavy heart.  She had given John her loving sympathy, and she would not retract a word of it to him.  But to God she could open her heart and to Him she could tell even those little things she would not speak of to any human being.  She could ask God to remember that, boy and man, John had stood by her side for nearly thirty years, and that he was leaving her for a woman who had been unknown a year ago.

She could tell God that John’s enthusiastic praise of this strange woman had been hard to bear, and she divined that at least for a time she might have to share her home with her.  She anticipated all the little offenses she must overlook, all the small unconsidered slights she must pass by.  She knew there would be difficulties and differences in which youth and beauty would carry the day against truth and justice; and she sat hour after hour marshaling these trials of her love and temper and facing them all to their logical end.

Some women would have said, “Time enough to face a trial when it comes.”  No, it is too late then.  Trials apprehended are trials defended; and Martha Hatton knew that she could not trust herself with unexpected trials.  In that case she believed the natural woman would behave herself naturally, and say the words and do the deeds called forth by the situation.  So Martha in this solemn session was seeking strength to give up, strength to bear and to forbear, strength to see her household laws and customs violated, and not go on the aggressive for their sanctity.

She had a custom that devout women in all ages have naturally followed.  She sat quiet before God and spoke to Him in low, whispered words.  It was not prayer; it was rather the still confidence of one who asks help and counsel from a Friend, able and willing to give it.

“Dear God,” she said, in a voice that none but God could hear, “give me good, plain, household understanding—­let me keep in mind that there is no foolishness like falling out—­help me to hold my temper well in hand so that I may put things right as fast as they go wrong.  I am jealous about John—­it is hard to give him up.  Thou gavest him to me, Thou knowest.  Oh, let nothing that happens unmother me!”