"You have a good companion here," said he. "I hope you find comfort in it?"
Letty involuntarily shook her head, and the tears started afresh.
"My dear Letty," said the doctor, "it may appear like a strange remark to make to a woman who has just lost her only child, but it seems to me that you are suffering from something more than grief for your little one. Tell me: do you feel that God is with you in this sorrow?"
"No," replied Letty. "He is not. I am alone. God has forsaken me, and refuses to hear my prayers. I am all alone, and must be alone. There is no comfort for me anywhere, and I can never look forward to seeing my child again: I have no hope, and am without God in the world!" Her voice was lost in sobs.
"God can never forsake or forget us, though we forsake and forget Him," said the doctor. "Tell me: have you not given yourself to God to be entirely his?"
"I thought I did, once," said Letty.
"Never mind what you did once. Very likely you did; but you can no more live upon past religious experience than you can upon what you ate last year. Can you give yourself to him NOW?"
"What do you mean by giving myself to him, doctor?" asked Letty.
"I mean that you should put yourself, your hopes and fears, your troubles, sorrows and sins,—all, in short, that goes to make up yourself,—into God's hands. Submit yourself to his will. Lay yourself as it were on the altar before him, and trust that he will accept you. That is what I mean. Can you do that?"
"I have tried," said Letty, sorrowfully; "but—"