The fragile girl paused; then, glancing quickly up into Madge’s face, she cried:
“You love Jesus, of course, Madge? You are saved, dear, and looking for His coming?”
For an instant Madge was silent. Then, with a deep sigh, she replied:
“Oh, me! I am afraid I am not saved, as you call it. Katie, dear, the fact is——”
She halted in her speech. She did not know how to put into words all that her friend’s question had aroused within her.
While she halted thus, the girl at her side put her arms about her, clasping her with a kind of yearning—an “I will not let you go” kind of clasp—as she cried, softly:
“Oh, my darling, you must not lie down to-night until you know you are Christ’s. Then—then—after that, nothing can ever matter. Come weal, come woe, come life, come death, all is well!”
It was past midnight before the two girls climbed into their berths, but by that time Madge Finisterre knew that she had passed from death into life.
Before the vessel reached New York she had learned something of the truth of the near return of the Lord.
On the quay, when they landed, the two girls bade each other a sorrowful farewell.