Eleanor's head drooped, as well as her heart. She wondered at herself; but there was a spell of power upon her, and she could by no means lift up either. It was not only that his words were true, but that he knew them to be so.
"Do you know what you want?" her friend went on, in tons that were tender, along with that deliberate utterance that carried so much force with it. "You know yourself an offender before the Lord—and you want the sense of forgiveness in your heart. You know yourself inclined to be an offender again—and you want the renewing grace of God to make your heart clean, and set it free from the power of sin. Then you want also something to make you happy; and the love of Jesus alone can do that."
"What is the use of telling over the things one has not got?"—said Eleanor in somewhat smothered tones. The words of her companion came again clear as a bell—
"Because you may have them if you want them."
Eleanor struggled with herself, for her self-possession was endangered, and she was angry at herself for being such a fool; but she could not help it; yet she would not let her agitation come any more to the surface. She waited for clearness of voice, and then could not forbear the question,
"How, Mr. Rhys?"
"Jesus said, 'If any man thirst, let him come unto me and drink.' There is all fulness in him. Go to him for light—go to him for strength—go to him for forgiveness, for healing, for sanctification. 'Whosoever will, let him take of the water of life freely.'"
"'Go to him?'" repeated Eleanor vaguely.
"Ask him."
Ask Him! It was such a far-off, strange idea to her a heart, there seemed such a universe of distance between, Eleanor's face grew visibly shadowed with the thought. She? She could not. She did not know how. She was silent a little while. The subject was getting unmanageable.