"Then you have neglected your Bible and prayer for some time past?"
Ellen hardly uttered, "Yes."
"Why, my child?"
"I don't know, Maam," said Ellen, weeping "that is one of the things that made me think myself so very wicked. I couldn't like to read my Bible or pray either, though I always used to before. My Bible lay down quite at the bottom of my trunk, and I even didn't like to raise my things enough to see the cover of it. I was so full of bad feelings, I didn't feel fit to pray or read either."
"Ah! that is the way with the wisest of us," said her companion; "how apt we are to shrink most from our Physician just when we are in most need of him! But, Ellen, dear, that isn't right. No hand but His can touch that sickness you are complaining of. Seek it, love seek it. He will hear and help you, no doubt of it, in every trouble you carry simply and humbly to his feet; he has promised, you know."
Ellen was weeping very much, but less bitterly than before; the clouds were breaking, and light beginning to shine through.
"Shall we pray together now?" said her companion, after a few minutes' pause.
"Oh, if you please, Maam, do!" Ellen answered, through her tears.
And they knelt together there on the moss beside the stone, where Ellen's head rested and her friend's folded hands were laid. It might have been two children speaking to their father, for the simplicity of that prayer; difference of age seemed to be forgotten, and what suited one suited the other. It was not without difficulty that the speaker carried it calmly through, for Ellen's sobs went nigh to check her more than once. When they rose, Ellen silently sought her friend's arms again, and laying her face on her shoulder and putting both arms round her neck, she wept still but what different tears! It was like the gentle rain falling through sunshine, after the dark cloud and the thunder and the hurricane have passed by. And they kissed each other before either of them spoke.
"You will not forget your Bible and prayer again, Ellen?"