Friend Barton's "concern" kept him awake that night. His wife watched by
his side, giving no sign, lest her wakeful presence should disturb his
silent wrestlings. The tall, cherry-wood clock in the entry measured the
hours, as they passed, with its slow, dispassionate tick.

At two o'clock Rachel Barton was awakened from her first sleep of weariness
by her husband's voice, whispering heavily in the darkness.

"My way is hedged up! I see no way to go forward. Lord, strengthen my
patience, that I murmur not, after all I have seen of thy goodness. I find
daily bread is very desirable; want and necessity are painful to nature;
but shall I follow Thee for the sake of the loaves, or will it do to
forsake Thee in times of emptiness and abasement?"

There was silence again, and restless tossings and sighings continued the
struggle.

"Thomas," the wife's voice spoke tremulously in the darkness, "my dear
husband, I know whither thy thoughts are tending. If the Spirit is with
thee, do not deny it for our sakes, I pray thee. The Lord did not give
thee thy wife and children to hang as a millstone round thy neck. I am thy
helpmeet, to strengthen thee in his service. I am thankful that I have my
health this spring better than usual, and Dorothy is a wonderful help. Her
spirit was sent to sustain me in thy long absences. Go, dear, and serve our
Master, who has called thee in these bitter strivings! Dorothy and I will
keep things together as well as we can. The way will open--never fear!" She
put out her hand and touched his face in the darkness; there were tears on
the furrowed cheeks. "Try to sleep, dear, and let thy spirit have rest.
There is but one answer to this call."