“Jesus—I'm—sor-ry—!” repeated the weak voice in almost a whisper.
“Please forgive me,” said Marilyn slowly, distinctly.
“Please—for—give—!” the slow voice repeated.
“And save me—save—!” the voice was scarcely audible.
The doctor came and stood close by the bed, looking down keenly, but Cherry roused once more and looked at them, her sharp little voice stabbing out into the silence piercingly,
“Is that—all?”
“That is all,” said Marilyn with a ring in her voice, “Jesus died to take care of all the rest! You can just rest on Him!”
“Oh-h!” The agony went out of the pinched little face, a half smile dawned and she sank into rest.
As Marilyn went home in the dawn with the morning star beginning to pale, and the birds at their early worship, something in her own heart was singing too. Above the feeling of awe over standing at the brink of the river and seeing a little soul go wavering out, above even the wonder that she had been called to point the way, there sang in her soul a song of jubilation that Mark was exonerated from shame and disgrace. Whatever others thought, whatever she personally would always have believed, it still was great that God had given her this to make her know that her inner vision about it had been right. Perhaps, sometime, in the days that were to come, Mark would tell her about it, but there was time enough for that. Mark would perhaps come to see her this morning. She somehow felt sure that at least he would come to say he was glad she had stayed with his mother. It was like Mark to do that. He never let any little thing that was done for him or his pass unnoticed.
But the morning passed and Mark did not come. The only place that Mark went was to see Billy.