"Not at all, I assure you."
"Egbert said there was some most beautiful singing as he came up alongside the ship to-day—was it you?"
"In part it was I."
"He said it was hymns. Won't you sing me one?"
Eleanor liked it very well; it suited her better than talking. They sat down together, and Eleanor sang:
"'There's balm in Gilead,
To make the wounded whole.
There's power enough in Jesus
To save a sin-sick soul.'"
And somewhat to her surprise, before the hymn had gone far, her companion was weeping; and kept her face hidden in her handkerchief till the last words were sung.
"'Come then to this physician;
His help he'll freely give.
He asks no hard condition,—
'Tis only, look, and live.
For there's balm in Gilead,
To make the wounded whole.
There's power enough in Jesus
To save a sin-sick soul.'"
"I never heard anything so sweet in all my life!" said Mrs. Esthwaite as she got up and wiped her eyes. "I've been keeping you up. But do tell me," said she looking at her innocently,—"are all Methodists like you?"
"No," said Eleanor laughing; and then she was vexed at herself that the laugh changed to a sob and the tears came. Was she hysterical? It was very unlike her, but this seemed something like it. Neither could she immediately conquer the strangling sensation, between laughter and crying, which threatened her.