"I don't know anything about them things. I might, I s'pose, if I'd been a mind to. It's too late now, and I don't care about that, either. Things can't be worse, I tell you."
"It's not too late; don't ruin yourself with that folly. The Lord is all powerful. He can do anything. He doesn't need time as men do. He can save you now just as well as he could last year. All you have to do is to ask him; he will in no wise cast out; he 'is able to save to the uttermost.' Believe on him, and the work is all done."
It is impossible to tell the eager energy with which these words were poured forth by the man who saw that the purple shadows were creeping and the time was short; but the same stony look still settled on the listener's face, and she repeated with the indifference of despair—
"It's no use—my time is gone—it don't matter. My heart's broke, I tell you, and I don't care."
"He will save you if you will let him; he wants to. I can't tell you how much he has promised to hear the very faintest, latest call. Say 'Lord Jesus forgive me' with all your heart, and the work is done."
A sudden change swept over the sick stolid face, a gleam of interest in the dreary eyes, and she spoke with eagerness.
"Do you say he can do everything?"
"Everything. 'Whatever ye ask in my name, believing, ye shall receive.' These are his own words."
"Does he believe in rum?"
"No!" promptly replied the startled, but strongly temperate John Birge.