“You are Sister Rachel, are you not?”

“Yes; and you—­yes, I know you.  I am glad to meet you.  How are you?  Has the Lord shown you,—­has He satisfied you?  You see I remember you well.”

The woman showed her gladness at Rachel’s recognition.  “The Lord has shown me abundantly and graciously,” she replied; “but come with me away from the crowd.  I shall be pleased to tell you all about it.”  Rachel accompanied the woman, who led her out into some quieter streets, thence to a beautiful home under tall trees.  Flowers bloomed and birds sang in the garden.  The two women seated themselves by a playing fountain.

“I am glad you have not forgotten me.  My name you may not remember—­it is Sister Rose.”

“Your face, dear sister, your beautiful face marked with that deep sorrow, no one could forget;” said Rachel, “but now the sorrow is gone, I see, and the beauty remains.”

Sister Rose took the other’s hand caressingly.  “That day in the temple,” she said, “I came there as a place of last resort.  I was suffering, and had tried everything that I could think of to ease my troubled soul.  I had prayed to God to give me some manifestation regarding my boy.  I came to the temple to get a great favor, and I obtained a blessing.  Instead of receiving some miraculous manifestation, you came to me and led me gently to a seat by ourselves.  And there you talked to me.  It was not so much what you said, but the spirit by which you said it that soothed and quieted and rested me.  You repeated to me some verses, do you remember?  I had you write them out, and I committed them to memory.”

“Do you remember them yet?”

“Listen: 

  “Thou knowest, O my Father!  Why should I
    Weary high heaven with restless prayers and tears! 
  Thou knowest all!  My heart’s unuttered cry
    Hath soared beyond the stars and reached Thine ears.

  Thou knowest—­ah, Thou knowest!  Then what need,
    Oh, loving God, to tell Thee o’er and o’er. 
  And with persistent iteration plead
    As one who crieth at some closed door.”

“That day I went away comforted and strengthened.  Do you recollect?”

“Yes; but what was your trouble?  I do not remember that.”

“My son, my only child, was taken so cruelly from me.  He was the hope of my life, and when he answered the call to go on a mission to the islands of the sea, I let him go gladly, because it was on the Lord’s business.  Then some months later the news came that he had died.  I was crazed with grief.  I could not understand why the Lord would permit such a thing to take place.  Was my boy not in His service?  Why did not the Lord take care of His own?”

“And so you suffered, both because of your loss and because of your thoughts,” said Rachel.  “Poor sister,—­but now?”

“He is with me now, and it has all been explained.  We live in this house.  Do you care to hear the story?”