“He would kill their spirits, too.”
“None but God can do that.”
“He is the Son of God.”
“O, is God married?” so impiously, I lose heart. But Roban comes to my aid. With shining expectant eyes she now interrogates me.
“When will He come?” I shake my head.
“Who will He bring to life?” persisting.
“Those who love Him. O dear, dear Roban, do you love God?” I am pleading for a soul.
“That I do,” is her positive confession.
“Do you love His Son?” my hands clasped toward her.
“Anything that belongs to Him,” so beatifies me I spring to my feet to declare: