"Take this Book, my child; it will tell you what to do. It will tell you that merciful and all-powerful arms are open to receive you, and not a hopeless grave. The Son of God has said to the heavy laden, 'Come unto me,' and 'whosoever cometh I will in nowise cast out.' Heaven is full, my child, of just such guilty souls as yours, but it was HE who saved them. It was His precious blood that washed them whiter than snow. When you seek for forgiveness and healing at His feet all will be well, but not till then, and not elsewhere." "O, Mr. Eltinge," she sobbed, "you have pierced my heart as with a sword." "I have, indeed, my poor child--with the sword of truth; and what's more, I can't heal the wound I've made." "What shall I do? oh, what shall I do?" and she fairly writhed in the agony of her remorse. "'Behold the Lamb of God, that taketh away the sin of the world,'" he said gently but firmly, and his strong faith and the words of Holy Writ were like a rock, at which, from out of the overwhelming torrent of her remorseful despair, she grasped as her one chance, her one hope. Lifting her streaming eyes to heaven, and clasping her hands, she cried passionately: "O Christ, hope of the sinful, if there is mercy for such as I, forgive me, for my crime is like a falling mountain!" A moment later she sprang up and put her arms around the old man's neck. "My friend, my more than father!" she sobbed, "I think--I almost believe God has heard me. It seems as if I had escaped from death, and--and--my heart was breaking; but now--oh, it's all a heavenly mystery!" "Yes," replied Mr. Eltinge brokenly, and with answering emotion, "it is a heavenly mystery. 'Not by might, nor by power, but by my Spirit, saith the Lord.'" Ida could never forget the remaining hours which she spent that day in the old garden. it was then and there that she experienced the sensations of those entering a new spiritual life and a new world; and with some, these first impressions are very vivid; and with some, these first impressions are very vivid. It was according to nature that it should be so in the instance of Ida Mayhew, for she was simple, positive, and warm in her feelings, rather than cold and complex. But she was sane, and abounded in the homely common sense which enabled her to understand herself and those about her. She formed fairly correct estimates of all whom she had met, and with the same simple directness she began to recognize the character of the Divine Man that Mr. Eltinge and the Bible they read together presented. No earthly casuistry could ever lead her to doubt that he had heard her prayer that morning. She might reply simply to all cavil and questioning: "I know he heard and answered me, and if I do not know this to be true, I cannot know anything to be true;" for never before had her consciousness made anything so distinct and real.