Weary Graeme was, and utterly despondent, with now and then such bitter throbs of pain, at her heart, that she felt she must get away to weep out her tears alone. But she must have patience a little longer, and so, lying down on the bed, she suffered the wasted arms to clasp themselves about her neck, and for a time the sisters lay cheek to cheek in silence.
“Graeme,” said Marian, at last, “do you think papa kens?”
“What love?”
“That I am going soon. You know it, Graeme?”
Graeme’s heart stirred with a sudden throb of pain. There was a rushing in her ears, and a dimness before her eyes, as though the dreaded enemy had already come, but she found voice to say, softly,—
“You’re no’ feared, Menie?”
“No,” said she, quickly, then raising herself up, and leaning close over, so as to see her sister’s face, she added, “Do you think I need to fear, Graeme?”
If she had had a thousand worlds to give, she would have given all to know that her little sister, standing on the brink of the river of death, need not fear to enter it.
“None need fear who trust in Jesus,” said she, softly.
“No. And I do trust Him. Who else could I trust, now that I am going to die? I know He is able to save.”