"Where am I to get it?" she returned, in a tone of despair.
"From the Bridegroom himself," I said.
"No," she answered. "I have talked and talked and talked, and you know he says he abhors talkers. I am one of those to whom he will say 'I know you not.'"
"And you will answer him that you have eaten and drunk in his presence, and cast out devils, and—?"
"No, no: I will say he is right; that it is all my own fault; that I thought I was something when I was nothing, but that I know better now."
A dreadful fit of coughing interrupted her. As soon as it was over, I said,—
"And what will the Lord say to you, do you think, when you have said so to him?"
"Depart from me," she answered in a hollow, forced voice.
"No," I returned. "He will say, 'I know you well. You have told me the truth. Come in.'"
"Do you think so?" she cried. "You never used to think well of me."