“All who come to him,” whispered Graeme. “My darling, have you come?”
“I think he has drawn me to Himself. I think I am His very own. Graeme, I know I am not wise like you—and I have not all my life been good, but thoughtless and wilful often—but I know that I love Jesus, and I think He loves me, too.”
She lay quietly down again.
“Graeme, are you afraid for me?”
“I canna be afraid for one who trusts in Jesus.”
It was all she could do to say it, for the cry that was rising to her lips from her heart, in which sorrow was struggling with joy.
“There is only one thing that sometimes makes me doubt,” said Marian, again. “My life has been such a happy life. I have had no tribulation that the Bible speaks of—no buffetting—no tossing to and fro. I have been happy all my life, and happy to the end. It seems hardly fair, Graeme, when there are so many that have so much suffering.”
“God has been very good to you, dear.”
“And you’ll let me go willingly, Graeme?”
“Oh! Menie, must you go. Could you no’ bide with us a little while?” said Graeme, her tears coming fast. A look of pain came to her sister’s face.