But as she spoke the dawn was clear upon the height of her forehead.
“You are not made yet, as I am always telling you; and God has ordained that you shall have a hand in your own making. You have to consent, to desire that what you know for a fault shall be set right by his loving will and spirit.”
“I don’t know God, papa.”
“Ah, my dear, that is where it all lies. You do not know him, or you would never be without hope.”
“But what am I to do to know him!” she asked, rising on her elbow.
The saving power of hope was already working in her. She was once more turning her face towards the Life.
“Read as you have never read before about Christ Jesus, my love. Read with the express object of finding out what God is like, that you may know him and may trust him. And now give yourself to him, and he will give you sleep.”
“What are we to do,” I said to my wife, “if Percivale continue silent? For even if he be in love with her, I doubt if he will speak.”
“We must leave all that, Harry,” she answered.
She was turning on myself the counsel I had been giving Wynnie. It is strange how easily we can tell our brother what he ought to do, and yet, when the case comes to be our own, do precisely as we had rebuked him for doing. I lay down and fell fast asleep.