For a few moments Mr. Eltinge said nothing, but gently stroked the
bowed head as he might caress a daughter of his own. At last he
asked, with a voice that was broken from sympathy with her emotion,
"How about my Master, whose kind providence has brought all this
about?"
Ida gradually became more quiet, and as soon as she could trust
herself to speak she lifter her head and answered:
"Mr. Eltinge, I think I can learn to love God as you portray him
to me. But in my imperfection and wickedness I have not dared to
think of him till I came here."
"Now, isn't that just like the devil's work!" exclaimed Mr. Eltinge.
"It was our imperfection and wickedness that brought Christ to
our rescue, and yet you have been made to believe that your chief
claim upon our Divine Friend is a hopeless barrier against you!"
"Mr. Eltinge," said Ida, slowly, as if she were trying to be sure
that each word expressed her thought, "it was that word, FRIEND,
as you used it last night, that caught my ear and revived my hopes.
I now believe that if you had spoken only of duty or truth, or even
of God in the ordinary way, I should now be"--she buried her face
in her hands and shuddered--"I should not be in this sunny garden
with the memory that your hands have rested on my hands in blessing.
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