"Yes, all the privileges," he agreed.
"And you won't go away and write for the 'Saviours'?"
He laughed, took her down, and established her in the long room.
"I shall be very particular, or else what's the fun of being an invalid? And I know what to expect. I was ill once before. Grandma gave me a delicious glass of sangaree."
"You shall have sangaree." He made it himself. "Now, what else did she do for you?" he demanded, like one put upon his mettle.
Val glanced up at him slyly.
"Grandma used to read suitable selections from the Bible."
He leaned against her chair, looking down into her face, smiling as she hadn't seen him smile for many a day.
"I can give you suitable selections," he said, with shining eyes. "'Behold, thou art fair, my love; behold, thou art fair; thou hast doves' eyes within thy locks: thy hair is as a flock of goats that appear from Mount Gilead.' 'Thy lips are like a thread of scarlet—'"
The voice that to her was different from all the voices of earth went thrilling along her nerves as it had done the first night she heard it at the gate, when in ignorant girl-fashion she had known no more than, "I must follow, follow, follow, wherever it may lead."