"Mr. Philip," said Patient, as she noiselessly entered, "I have done your packing, and"—
"What a darling of a Covenanter you are, to take that off my hands!"
"And I have put a little Bible, Sir, along with your linen. Will you please to promise me, Mr. Philip, to read it?"
"Dear Patient," answered Philip, letting his lightness slip from him like a cloak, "I will read it. I have read it so much lately that I should feel almost lost without it, I assure you."
"Have you done aught but read it, Mr. Philip?" asked Patient, earnestly.
"As how?" queried Philip.
"Sir, I can conceive of none so awfully far off God and good as he that handles the bread of life but never eateth of it, he that standeth just outside the gate of the fold and never entereth therein. Have you felt it, Mr. Philip? have you believed it? have you prayed over it?"
There was no lightness about Philip's tone or manner as he answered, "I think, Patient, I have."
But Patient was not satisfied yet.
"Mr. Philip, my bairn," said she, "I do think that what you do, you'll do thoroughly—not half and half. I think you will know whether you do mean to follow the Lord or not. But 'tis one thing to mean to go, and another to set out on your journey; 'tis one thing to think you can leave all without trying, and another to leave all. And I'm no so sure, my dear bairn, whether you ken your own self, and whether you can leave all and follow Him. 'Tis rougher walking in the narrow way than on the broad road. It takes sore riving to get through the gate with some. Can you hold on? Can you set the Lord always before you, above all the jeering and scoffing, all the coldness and neglect of the world? For until the Lord is more to you than any in this world, you'll scarce be leaving all and following Him. Don't be deceived—don't be deceived! and oh, laddie dear, dinna deceive your ainsel'!"