“Premi is glad,” said Miranda softly.
“When you called out to Kripá Dé not to drink from the poisoned cup, did you think that your giving such a warning would bring you into trouble and danger?”
“I thought that I should be beaten, and I was so,” Miranda replied.
“You did a brave and kind action,” said Robin, “and I am sure that Kripá Dé is not ungrateful.” Miranda blushed like a rose at the praise. “But suppose,” continued Robin, “that you could only have saved your bhai by drinking the poison yourself, Miranda, would you have drunk it?”
A strange expression flitted over the lovely face. Miranda did not reply at once; then she said, in a hesitating tone, avoiding meeting the questioner’s gaze, “I think that I should have drunk it.”
“And you would in dying have expected, and justly expected, to be ever gratefully remembered by him for whom you had sacrificed life?”
Miranda slightly inclined her graceful head in assent.
“And yet how coldly you seem to regard the greatest sacrifice that ever was made! Many who thank God for rain, which descends at His simple command, never thank Him for the unspeakably greater gift of His only Son. There are those who read, or hear without interest, without love, that Christ tasted death for every man. Do you understand what that means?”
“I suppose that it was like drinking poison,” said the girl.
“Yes, like drinking poison, the deadliest poison, for every believer. I should think that for each individual there was a separate pang to be borne. I believe that when Christ hung on the cross He was drinking the deadly cup instead of me, instead of you, till the whole terrible draught of poison was finished, the cup drained of the last deadly drop.”