“Do without it!  Why I have done without it all my days, Mrs. Landholm.”

“You are mistaken even in that,” she said; “but, Miss Elizabeth, do you think you have lived a blameless life all your life till now? —­ have you never done wrong?”

“Why no, I don’t think that, —­ of course I have,” Elizabeth answered gravely, and not without a shade of displeasure at the question.

“Do you know that for every one of those wrong doings your life is forfeit?”

“Why no!”

“And that you are living and sitting there, only because Jesus Christ paid his blood for your life? —­ Your time is bought time; —­ and he has written the Bible to tell you what to do with it.”

“Am I not to do what I like with my own time?” thought Elizabeth.  The thought was exceeding disagreeable; but before she or anybody had spoken again, the door of the big bed-room opened gently, and Miss Cadwallader’s pretty face peeped out.

“Are they all gone to bed? —­ are they all gone to bed?” she said; —­ “may I come, Mrs Landholm?”

She was in her dressing-gown, and tripping across the floor with the prettiest little bare feet in the world, she took a chair in the corner of the fireplace.

“They got so cold,” she said, —­ “I thought I would come out and warm them.  How cosy and delightful you do look here.  Dear Mrs. Landholm, do stop working.  What are you talking about?”

There was a minute’s hesitation, and then Elizabeth said,

“Of reading the Bible.”

“The Bible! oh why should one read the Bible?” she said, huddling herself up in the corner.  “It’s very tiresome!”

“Do you ever read it, Miss Rose?”

“I? —­ no, indeed I don’t.  I am sorry, I dare say you will think me very wrong, Mrs. Landholm.”

“Then how do you know it is tiresome?”

“O I know it is —­ I have read it; and one hears it read, you know; but I never want to.”

Her words grated, perhaps on both her hearers; but neither of them answered.

“There was a man once,” said Mrs. Landholm, “who read it a great deal; and he said that it was sweeter than honey and the honey-comb.”

“Who was that?”

“You may read about him if you wish to,” said Mrs. Landholm.

“But Mrs. Landholm,” said Elizabeth, “do you think it is an interesting book?”

“Not to those who are not interested in the things, Miss Elizabeth.”

“What things?”

Mrs. Landholm paused a bit.

“A friend to go with you through life’s journey —­ a sure friend and a strong one; a home ready at the journey’s end; the name and the love of forgiven children, instead of the banishment of offenders; a clean heart and a right spirit in place of this sickly and sin-stricken nature! —­ a Saviour and a Father instead of a Judge.”

It was impossible to forget the reddening eyes and trembling lips which kept the words company.  Elizabeth found her own quivering for sympathy; why, she could not imagine.  But there was so much in that face, —­ of patience and gladness, of strength and weakness, —­ it was no wonder it touched her.  Mrs. Landholm’s eyes fell to her work and she took up her stocking again and went on darning; but there was a quick motion of her needle that told how the spirits were moving.