The old gentleman's words came home to her with such a force
of personal application that she was deeply moved, and even awed.
They seemed like a divine message--nay more, like a restraining
hand. "How strange it was," she thought, that she had come to this
place!--how strange that a serene old, man, with heaven's peace
already on his brow, should have uttered the words best adapted
to her desperate need. If he had spoken of duty, obligation, of
truth in the abstract, his tones would have been like the sound of
a wintry wind. But he had spoken of a Friend, as tender, patient,
and helpful as he was powerful. What was far more, he spoke with
the strong convincing confidence of personal knowledge. He had tried
this Friend through all the vicissitudes of over half a century,
and found him true. Could human assurance--could human testimony
go farther? Deep in her heart she was conscious that hope was
reviving again--that the end had not yet come.
The gay young party, touched and subdued, passed out quietly with
the others. But Ida lingered.
"Who is that old gentleman?" she asked of a lady near her.
"That is Mr. Eltinge--Mr. James Eltinge," was the reply.
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