"You were afraid of dying, the other night, Jane."
"That's gone,"—said the girl expressively.
"But how did it go?"
"I can't say, ma'am. I just saw how Jesus loves me—and I felt I loved him—and then how could I be feared, Miss Eleanor? when all's in his hand."
Eleanor stood still, looking at the transformed face before her, and feeling ready to sink on the floor and cry out for very sorrow of heart. Had this poor creature put on the invisible panoply which made her dare to go among the angels, while Eleanor's own hand was empty—could not reach it—could not grasp it? She stood still with a cold brow and dark face.
"Jane, I wish you could give me what you have got—so as not to lose it yourself."
"Jesus will give it to you, Miss Eleanor," said the girl with a brightening eye and smile. "I know he will."
"I do not know of him, Jane, as you do," Eleanor said gravely. "What did you do to gain this knowledge?"
"I? I did nought, ma'am—what could I do? I just laid and cried in my bitterness of heart—like the night you was here, ma'am; till the day that Mr. Rhys came again and talked—and prayed—O he prayed!—and my trouble went away and the light came. O Miss Eleanor, if you would hear Mr. Rhys speak! I don't know how;—but if you'd hear him, you'd know all that man can tell."
Eleanor stood silent. Jane looked at her with eyes of wistful regard, but panting already from the exertion of talking.