Тяжёлые времена

           Andatthattimethepale,worn,patientfacewasseenlookingupatthesky,withthebrokenrighthandlyingbareontheoutsideofthecoveringgarments,asifwaitingtobetakenbyanotherhand.

           Theygavehimdrink,moistenedhisfacewithwater,andadministeredsomedropsofcordialandwine.Thoughhelayquitemotionlesslookingupatthesky,hesmiledandsaid,‘Rachael.’Shestoopeddownonthegrassathisside,andbentoverhimuntilhereyeswerebetweenhisandthesky,forhecouldnotsomuchasturnthemtolookather.

           ‘Rachael,mydear.’

           Shetookhishand.Hesmiledagainandsaid,‘Don’tlet’tgo.’

           ‘Thou’rtingreatpain,myowndearStephen?’

           ‘Iha’been,butnotnow.Iha’been—dreadful,anddree,andlong,mydear—but’tisowernow.Ah,Rachael,awamuddle!Fro’firsttolast,amuddle!’

           Thespectreofhisoldlookseemedtopassashesaidtheword.

           ‘Iha’fellintoth’pit,mydear,ashavecostwi’intheknowledgeo’oldfoknowlivin,hundredsandhundredso’men’slives—fathers,sons,brothers,deartothousandsan’thousands,an’keeping’emfro’wantandhunger.Iha’fellintoapitthatha’beenwi’th’Firedampcruellerthanbattle.Iha’readon’tinthepublicpetition,asonnyonemayread,fro’thementhatworksinpits,inwhichtheyha’pray’nandpray’nthelawmakersforChrist’ssakenottolettheirworkbemurderto’em,buttospare’emforth’wivesandchildrenthattheylovesaswellasgentlefoklovestheirs.