“Then say to Him this only—‘Lord, I bring Thee a dead heart, that Thou mayest give it life.’”
She said the words after him, mechanically, like a child repeating a lesson. “How long will it take?”
“He knows—not I.”
“But suppose I die first?”
“The Lord will not let thee die unsaved, if thou hast a sincere wish for salvation. He wants it more than thou.”
“He wants it!” repeated Margaret wonderingly. “He wants it. He wants thee. Did He die for thee, child, that He should let thee go lightly? Thou art as precious in His sight as if the world held none beside thee.”
“I did not think I was that to any one—except my parents and—and Richard.”
“Thou art that, incomparably more than to any of them, to the Lord Jesus.”
The momentary exhibition of feeling was past.
“Well!” she said, with a dreary sigh. “It may be so. But I cannot care about it.”