Ida passed slowly towards the door, looking wistfully back at the
old man, who stopped to greet cheerily one and another.
"No one need be afraid to speak to him," she thought. "His every
look and tone show him to be kind and sincere. I'll see him
before--before"--she shuddered, and scarcely dared to put her dark
purpose in thought in the presence of one who had lived patiently
at God's will for nearly a century.
She stepped out into the night and watched for his coming. In a
moment or two the old gentleman also passed out, and stood waiting
for his carriage.
Timidly approaching him, she said, "Mr. Eltinge, may I speak with
you?"
He stepped with her a little aside from the others.
"Mr. Eltinge," she continued, in a voice that trembled and was
broken by her feeling, "I am one of the young people you spoke to
this evening. I'm in trouble--deep trouble. I want such a Friend
as you described to-night."
He took her hand and said, in a hearty voice, "God bless you, my
child. He wants you more than you want him."
"May I come and see you to-morrow morning?" asked Ida, hurriedly,
for his tones of kindness, for which her heart was famishing, were
fast breaking down her self-control.
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