"You must not think to make your departure, not for many days," said the
German presently. "Tant Sannie gives her consent, and--"
"My friend," said Bonaparte, closing his eyes sadly, "you are kind; but
were it not that tomorrow is the Sabbath, weak and trembling as I lie here,
I would proceed on my way. I must seek work; idleness but for a day is
painful. Work, labour--that is the secret of all true happiness!"
He doubled the pillar under his head, and watched how the German drew the
leather thongs in and out.
After a while Lyndall silently put her book on the shelf and went home, and
the German stood up and began to mix some water and meal for roaster-cakes.
As he stirred them with his hands he said:
"I make always a double supply on Saturday night; the hands are then free
as the thoughts for Sunday."
"The blessed Sabbath!" said Bonaparte.
There was a pause. Bonaparte twisted his eyes without moving his head, to
see if supper were already on the fire.
"You must sorely miss the administration of the Lord's word in this
desolate spot," added Bonaparte. "Oh, how love I Thine house, and the
place where Thine honour dwelleth!"
"Well, we do; yes," said the German; "but we do our best. We meet
together, and I--well, I say a few words, and perhaps they are not wholly
lost, not quite.
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