In a cheery, sunny little room, on the afternoon of the same Sunday, sat old Cicely, with her Bible on her lap. There were several unoccupied rooms in Ashcliffe Hall, and Cicely had chosen this as hers, where the evening sun came lovingly in, and dwelt for a season with lingering beams on walls and furniture. The same pleased smile rested on the old woman's lips, as she slowly traced the words with her finger along the page, for Cicely read with little fluency; and she said half aloud, though she was alone,--"'He hath made Him to be sin for us, who knew no sin; that we might be made the righteousness of God in Him.'[8] Ben't that good, now?" "May I come in, Cicely?" asked a soft voice at the door. "Surely, my dear, surely," was the answer. "I'm just a-looking over some of them fine bits where I has my marks. I'll set a chair, Mrs. Celia." But the chair was set already, and Celia sat down by the old woman. "Now show me what you like best," she said. "Well, my dear, I do read most of these here four. 'Tis all good, you know--the very best of reading, of course; but I can understand these here best--Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John. There's nice reading in Luke--very pretty reading indeed; but the beautifullest of 'em all, my dear, that's John. He is up-and-down like, is John. You see I can't get used to the Book like as you would. There's five bits of John--two long uns and two little uns, and one middling. Now the last of 'em I don't understand; 'tis main hard, only a bit here and there; but when I do come to a bit that I can understand, 'tis fine, to be sure! But 'tis this piece of him after Luke that I reads mostly, and the next piece of him after that. Look!" It was an old, worn book, bound in plain brown calf, which lay on Cicely's lap. The pages were encumbered with an infinitude of ends of worsted,--black, brown, and gray. These were Cicely's guide-posts. She was slowly pursuing the lines with her finger, till she came upon the passage which she wished to find. "Now, my dear, you read that." Celia read, "'And this is the promise which He hath promised us, even eternal life.'"[9] "Wait a bit!" cried old Cicely; "there's another in this big piece--a rare good un. Let me find him!" And turning hastily over the leaves of her book, she picked out, by the help of the worsteds, the verse she wished. "Read that, Mrs. Celia." "'And this is life eternal, that they should know Thee, the only true God, and Jesus Christ whom Thou hast sent.'"[10] "Ben't that nice?" delightedly asked old Cicely. "But how are we to know Him?" said Celia, wearily. "O Cicely! I wanted to ask you of what you were thinking this morning in the sermon which pleased you so mightily. You smiled as if you were so happy."