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raming round and gathering over me: I trembled to hear some fatal word spoken which would at once declare and rivet the spell。
“And what does your heart say?” demanded St。 John。
“My heart is mute;—my heart is mute;” I answered; struck and thrilled。
“Then I must speak for it;” continued the deep; relentless voice。 “Jane; e with me to India: e as my helpmeet and fellow… labourer。”
The glen and sky spun round: the hills heaved! It was as if I had heard a summons from Heaven—as if a visionary messenger; like him of Macedonia; had enounced; “e over and help us!” But I was no apostle;—I could not behold the herald;—I could not receive his call。
“Oh; St。 John!” I cried; “have some mercy!”
I appealed to one who; in the discharge of what he believed his duty; knew neither mercy nor remorse。 He continued—
“God and nature intended you for a missionary’s wife。 It is not personal; but mental endowments they have given you: you are formed for labour; not for love。 A missionary’s wife you must—shall be。 You shall be mine: I claim you—not for my pleasure; but for my Sovereign’s service。”
“I am not fit for it: I have no vocation;” I said。
He had calculated on these first objections: he was not irritated by them。 Indeed; as he leaned back against the crag behind him; folded his arms on his chest; and fixed his countenance; I saw he was prepared for a long and trying opposition; and had taken in a stock of patience to last him to it
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