Meanwhile the moments rolled slowly by: the sick girl tossed and moaned; the church-bells rang for evening service, first merrily, as glad to call the people to the house of God; then slowly, as loth to stop while any more stragglers might be induced to come; then with one or two long sobs for those who, in spite of all persuasion and all "long-suffering patience," wilfully stay outside, stopped, and the silence was only broken by the shouts of the noisy children below. Even these ceased at last, and as the sunset glow faded—flame red changing to pale yellow, and that again to cool, sombre gray—the time of waiting seemed to the unskilled watcher well-nigh interminable.
CHAPTER XIII.
SHIP-FEVER.
Presently Gretchen spoke. Her voice was thick, her accent even more foreign than usual, and at first the listener could not understand the words. But she put her ear close down to the bed and made out:—
"Miss Etta, am I going to die?"
"I don't know," said Etta, bewildered; "I hope not."
"I'm not afraid," said the German, "but—but it looks all so strange and dark. You didn't use to tell us about Jesus, and I couldn't rightly understand the minister; but don't it say here," putting her hand upon the Bible by her side, "that he will save everybody that comes to him?" Her teacher nodded. "Coming to him is asking him, isn't it?" Another nod. "Then, please, Miss Etta, ask him for me. I can't. I can't seem to think. Ask him now."
Poor Etta! never in her life had she been so confused. She had only just learned to pray for herself. She had not yet overcome the reticence which we all feel concerning our own interest in spiritual things sufficiently to tell her own sister of her experience and purpose—how could she bring herself to do this hard thing which her scholar asked of her? But the scholar had a human soul, and that soul might be very near to eternity. How could she refuse to do this thing which, by the very nature of her position toward her, the scholar had a right to ask?
Then an idea struck her, and opening her hymn-book,—for she had expected to attend the evening service after ascertaining the cause of her scholar's absence,—she knelt close to the window, and in the fast-fading light read in a tone of reverent supplication the hymn commencing,—
"Just as I am, without one plea,
But that Thy blood was shed for me,
And that Thou biddest me come to Thee,
Oh, Lamb of God, I come!"