Then Ogilvie did give a sob. He checked it as it rose to his throat.
“It is all right,” she continued, “I love you. Jesus is perfect ... and He loves you.”
“But do you, Sibyl, really love me the same as ever?” he asked, and there was a note of incredulity in his voice.
“Seems to me I love you more’n ever” was her answer, and the next instant her soft arms encircled his neck, and he felt her kisses on his cheek.
But suddenly, without warning, there came a change. There was a catch in the eager, quick breath, the arms relaxed their hold, the little head fell back on the pillow, the face almost rosy a moment back was now white, but the eyes were radiant and full of a wonderful, astonished light.
“Why,” cried Sibyl, “it’s Lord Jesus! He has come. He is here, looking at me.” She gazed toward the foot of the bed, her eyes were raised slightly upward each moment the ecstatic expression grew and grew in their depths.
“Oh, my beautiful Lord Jesus,” she whispered. “Oh, take me.” She tried to raise her arms and her eyes were fixed on a vision which Ogilvie could not see. There was just an instant of absolute stillness, then the clear voice spoke again.
“Take me, Lord Jesus Christ, but first, afore we go, kiss father, and tell him you love him.”
The eager lips were still, but the light, too wonderful for this mortal life, continued to fill the eyes.