"I am afraid I'm going to Hell, Sir," says the sick woman with a whine.
"Oh, Sir, save me, save me, don't let me go there. I couldn't stand it,
Sir, I should die with fear, the very thought of it drives me into a cold
sweat all over."
"Mrs Thompson," says Theobald gravely, "you must have faith in the
precious blood of your Redeemer; it is He alone who can save you."
"But are you sure, Sir," says she, looking wistfully at him, "that He
will forgive me--for I've not been a very good woman, indeed I
haven't--and if God would only say 'Yes' outright with His mouth when I
ask whether my sins are forgiven me--"
"But they _are_ forgiven you, Mrs Thompson," says Theobald with some
sternness, for the same ground has been gone over a good many times
already, and he has borne the unhappy woman's misgivings now for a full
quarter of an hour. Then he puts a stop to the conversation by repeating
prayers taken from the "Visitation of the Sick," and overawes the poor
wretch from expressing further anxiety as to her condition.
"Can't you tell me, Sir," she exclaims piteously, as she sees that he is
preparing to go away, "can't you tell me that there is no Day of
Judgement, and that there is no such place as Hell? I can do without the
Heaven, Sir, but I cannot do with the Hell.
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