"When Mr. Rhys was preaching to-night, it all came to me; I saw everything clearly. I saw how Jesus loves sinners. I saw I had nothing to do but to give myself to him, and he would do everything. I see how sins are forgiven through his blood; and I trust in it, and I am sure mine are; and I feel as if I had begun a new life, aunt Caxton!"
Eleanor's tears flowed like summer rain. Mrs. Caxton rose up and put her arms round her.
"The Lord be praised!" she said. "I was waiting for this, Eleanor."
"Aunt Caxton, I had been trying and thinking to make myself good first. I thought I was unworthy and unfit to be Christ's servant; but now I see that I can be nothing but unworthy, and only he can make me fit for anything; so I give up all, and I feel that he will do all for me. I am so happy! I was so blind before!"
Mrs. Caxton said little; she only rejoiced with Eleanor so tenderly as if she had been her own mother. Though that is speaking very coolly on the present occasion. Mrs. Powle had never shewed her daughter so much of that quality in her life, as Eleanor's aunt shewed now.
The breakfast next morning was unusually quiet. Happiness does not always make people talkative.
"How do you do, my love?" said Mrs. Caxton when they were left alone.
"After being up half the night?"
"More fresh than I have felt for a year, aunt Caxton. Did you hear that nightingale last night?"
"I heard him. I listened to him and thought of you."
"He sang—I cannot tell you what his song sounded like to me, aunt
Caxton. I could almost have fancied there was an angel out there."