Somehow I can't help believing what you say.

You seem to speak so true.

But--" "But what ?" said Ralph.
"But you know how I saw you just as kind to Martha Hawkins on Sunday as--as--" "Han--ner!" It was the melodious voice of the angry Mrs.Means, and Hannah lifted her pail and disappeared.
Standing in the shadow of his own despair, Ralph felt how dark a night could be when it had no promise of morning.
And Dr.Small, who had been stabling his horse just inside the barn, came out and moved quietly into the house just as though he had not listened intently to every word of the conversation.
As Ralph walked away he tried to comfort himself by calling to his aid the bulldog in his character.

But somehow it did not do him any good.
For what is a bulldog but a stoic philosopher?
Stoicism has its value, but Ralph had come to a place where stoicism was of no account.

The memory of the Helper, of his sorrow, his brave and victorious endurance, came when stoicism failed.