"Oh yes! She'll be all right. I've locked her in, and I've got the door-key in my pocket; she said she'd feel safer if she was locked in—she's always afraid of being robbed." The little girl laughed, apparently amused at the idea.
"It hardly seems right that she should be left alone if she's ill," Mr. Blackmore remarked. Then, after a brief pause, he said: "I have had you continually in my mind since we met yesterday, Melina; did you think over our conversation afterwards?"
"Yes, sir," Melina answered. "Did you—please don't mind my asking, and never mind if you forgot—did you pray for me, sir?"
"I did," was the response.
"Oh!" The child's eyes were full of eagerness and curiosity. "I should like so much to know what you said—I've been wondering—" She broke off in some embarrassment, fearing that the little gentleman might consider her inquisitive.
He was silent for a minute, during which he took off his eyeglasses, wiped them with his pocket-handkerchief, and put them on again. When he spoke his voice sounded very gentle, very earnest.
"I said, 'O God, remember my new friend, the little girl I met this morning, and teach her to know Thy love, which passeth knowledge, for Jesus Christ's sake,'" he told her. "Do you pray for yourself, Melina?"
"No, sir; never."
"Then for those you love? Surely—" He stopped abruptly, for a smile he did not understand, half-bitter, half-amused, had flickered across her face.
"I don't love anybody," she said.