“But now I know that if Jesus came for His people to-day, that I should meet my dear ones to-day. For when ‘the Lord Himself shall descend from heaven ... the dead in Christ shall rise first: then we which are alive and remain shall be caught up together with them in the clouds, to meet the Lord in the air: and so shall we ever be with the Lord.’”
Tom Hammond gazed at the speaker in wonder. The glory that filled her face, the triumph and rapture that rang in her voice, were a strange revelation to him.
“A starvation wage for making slop-shirts,” he mused, “yet more than triumphing over every discomfort of poverty by the force of the divine hope that dominates her! What is this hope?”
“Tell me of this wondrous thing, Mrs. Joyce,” he said, aloud, “that can transmute your poverty and suffering to triumph and rapture, and your comfortless garret to a heaven on earth.”
“Before I begin,” she replied, “tell me, Mr. Hammond, have ever you seen this?”
From the window-shelf she reached a tiny envelope booklet.
“‘Long Odds’!” he said, reading the boldly-printed title of the book. “No; I have never seen this. It sounds sporting, rather.”
“Take it, Mr. Hammond,” she went on; “if it does nothing else, it will awaken your interest in this wonderful subject.”
He slipped the book into his breast-pocket. She opened her mouth to speak again, when a sound from outside caught her ear. She started to her feet; her face turned deadly pale. The next instant the door was flung noisily open, and her husband entered the room.