She thought he looked thoughtfuller than ever when he came.  That might have been fancy.

“I don’t know, Miss Elizabeth,” he said, taking her hand as he had done in the morning, and answering her face.  “We must wait yet. —­ How have you borne the day?”

“I have borne it by the help of your book,” she said looking down at it and trembling.

“You could have no better help,” he said with a little sigh, as he turned away to the table, —­ “except that of the Author of it.”

The tea was very silent, for even Winthrop did not talk much; and very sad, for Elizabeth could hardly hold her head up.

“Mr. Winthrop,” she said when he rose, —­ “can you give me a minute or two before you go? —­ I want to ask you a question.”

“Certainly,” —­ he said; and waited, both standing, while she opened his bible and found the place he had shewed her in the morning.  She shewed it to him now.

“This —­ I don’t quite understand it. —­ I see what is spoken of, and the need of it, —­ but —­ how can I make it my own?”

She looked up as she put the question, with most earnest eyes, and lips that only extreme determination kept from giving way.  He looked at her, and at his book.

“By giving your trust to the Maker of the promise.”

“How? —­”

“The same unquestioning faith and dependence that you would give to any sure and undoubted refuge of human strength.”

Elizabeth looked down and pressed her hands close together upon her breast.  She knew so well how to give that! —­ so little how to give the other.

“Do you understand what Christ requires of those who would follow him?”

“No,” she said looking up again, —­ “not clearly —­ hardly at all.”

“One is —­ that you give up everything, even in thought, that is contrary to his authority.”

He was still, and so was she, both looking at each other.

“That is what is meant by repentance.  The other thing is, —­ that you trust yourself for all your wants —­ from the forgiveness of sin, to the supply of this moment’s need, —­ to the strength and love of Jesus Christ; —­ and that because he has paid your price and bought you with his own blood.”

“You mean,” said Elizabeth slowly, “that his life was given in place of mine.”

Winthrop was silent.  Elizabeth stood apparently considering.

“‘Everything that is contrary to his authority’” —­ she added after a minute, —­ “how can I know exactly all that?”

He still said nothing, but touched with his finger once or twice the book in his hand.

Elizabeth looked, and the tears came to her eyes.

“You know, —­” she said, hesitating a little, —­ “what physicians say of involuntary muscular resistance, that the physical frame makes sometimes?”

He answered her with an instant’s light of intelligence, and then with the darkened look of sorrow.  But he took his bible away with him and said no more.