The next time he was left alone with Susan, he said—
"Susan, my dear daughter, for so I must call you, though you would not give me leave to do so, I wish to do something for young Larned."
Susan made no reply, except by a crimson blush.
"Pardon me for speaking so abruptly. I have not a great while to stay with you, and I must say what I have to say directly and without preface."
"That is the way in which I would have every one speak to me," said Susan.
"There is nothing which I can do for your welfare and happiness which I do not desire to do. My property will soon be of no value to me, for I shall shortly be in my grave. I wish to know if you cannot devise some way by which I can assist young Larned in his education. Set your wits to work, and, having succeeded, inform me. I am growing faint, and shall require assistance to be enabled to reach my room."
Susan called her father, who was at hand, and, supported by them both, the invalid succeeded in reaching his room. He then fainted quite away. Susan was greatly alarmed, as she had never before seen one in a state of temporary insensibility. So perfect an image of death could not be witnessed for the first time without agitation and even terror. By a prompt application of remedies, consciousness was soon restored. He was feeble and dispirited, and Susan remained by his bedside. Unable or disinclined to engage in conversation, he pointed to the Bible. She read to him. He listened with interest, and when she paused would request her to proceed. She read till the shadows of evening rendered it necessary for her to lay aside the volume.
"There is much there," said he, "that I do not comprehend."
"Is there not much there that you can comprehend, and much that you can believe, though it transcend your comprehension? Do you find any difficulty in understanding this assertion, 'God so loved the world that he gave his only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in him might not perish, but have everlasting life?'"
"I believe it. I do not doubt the truth of any declaration of the Bible; but there is an air of unreality about the truths which prevents my acting as I should, if I really felt them to be true. I find that, in order to believe, one needs to have the heart of a little child. My heart is soiled, and hardened, and chilled by the devotion of my life to the world. I would that I could become a child again!"