“Jesu, lover of my soul.”
After a little while he appeared to wake up.
“What was that you were singing?” he said; “sing it again.”
Again the sweet words, which have brought hope and balm to thousands of sufferers, were trilled out in touching tones from Lucy’s lips. A strange light shone through his eyes, as he sighed, and said,—
“How sweet it is! Now, I shall be very quiet, and you must go down into the parlour and rest a bit.”
Lucy would have protested, but he showed such signs of determination that she prudently obeyed. An hour after as she laid her hand on his bedroom door, she heard him speaking aloud, and caught the words,—
“Hide me, O my Saviour, hide.”
Tears of joy mingled with the smile on Lucy’s cheek as she knew that her prayers were being answered, and that the old man was creeping slowly and surely to the Cross. So the days passed by. At length the fountain sprung, and even his poor, arid soul was quickened, refreshed, and beautified by the streams of saving grace.
One day Lucy ventured to speak of the attack made upon him on the Kesterton Road. He no longer flashed up with anger—no longer called aloud for revenge.