"I'm not even good enough to feel my sins, but I want Thee, I want to belong to Thee. I want to be made into what Thou dost wish me to be."
"I want to know Thee, I want to have Christ as my Saviour and Lord. I am helpless to do any of this properly myself, but I am willing. Take me now, and help me never to go back from it."
And as her gaze went up into the unfathomable blue, her eyes were opened. She knew that a personal interview between her spirit and her Master had taken place. A sense of awe came over her. If she had been alone in the carriage, she would have got down upon her knees. As it was, a plain, hard-featured woman opposite wondered what thoughts could so soften and lighten a young face.
It was five o'clock when the train put Jean down at her destination. She was the only passenger that alighted, and both the stationmaster and one porter looked curiously at her.
"Be you the party for Kingsford Farm?" she was asked.
"Yes, I am. Is there a trap here for me?"
"Miss McTaggart be waitin' outside."
Jean went through the little booking-office and found a very shabby dog-cart drawn up under the shade of an old elm close by. A girl was in it, and turned at once to greet her.
"Good evening, Miss Desmond. I hope you are not tired. Will you get up in front? And Brayson will pack your luggage in behind."
Jean was disappointed that the voice was essentially an English one. Yet the face with its freckles, high cheek-bones, and rough reddish brown hair, was distinctly Scotch. She climbed in, and took herself to task for noting the shabby jacket elbows, the white cotton gloves, and the square thick boots that protruded from the short blue serge skirt her driver wore. But Miss McTaggart was apparently oblivious of dress. Jean put her down at once for a strong-minded young woman who scorned all feminine fripperies.
She little knew that in one quick glance, Christobel McTaggart had taken in every detail of her London-made blue linen gown, with its French embroidery, her shady hat with blue cornflowers, even her dainty gloves and boots. Jean was not an extravagant dresser, but she always knew what she wanted, and her artistic eye never played her false.