“He knows it all. There’s nothing new for him to learn about you. I can’t talk of such things, and I’m the last person in the world to be a help to anybody,” Jervis went on humbly. “But, my dear, didn’t the Lord Jesus Christ die for you long before you ever thought of him?”
“Yes, he did,” Marian answered.
“And you don’t think he’ll turn from you now, just when you’re needing him most?”
She looked up strangely.
“But I forsook my child! I left my Joan!” she said.
“Yes, you did, Polly,” Jervis answered, with a sorrowful intonation. “It’s one of the saddest things I ever heard—a thing I don’t know how to believe yet. But, my dear, God’s ways are not like man’s ways. He never forsakes any that put their trust in him.”
“And if I can’t trust?” she whispered.
“Then I’d go and tell him so, and confess again the past, and wait on him for new help.”
Marian stood up, drawing her shawl round her.
“Yes, you’re right,” she murmured. “Tell him! Of course; there’s nothing better to be done. And he’ll understand—no fear about that—and he’ll have pity. It’s been sore work, Jervis—sorer than any one knows—and I’ve got right down into darkness. But he’s sure to help me out again, isn’t he? I didn’t think before of just telling him all about it. I think I’ll go to my room for a while. Oh, no; I shan’t be cold! It’s better not to put off, Jervis.”