"I understand," said the Bishop. "My dear maiden, do you not see wherein your trouble lies? You have undertaken, something which is not in your day's work at all, and which therefore is too much for your strength. You are trying to purchase eternal life by your own works and deservings, whereas it has already been bought for you, and the whole price paid by another, so that to you it is offered as a free gift. The 'gift' of God—observe, daughter, the 'gift' of God is eternal life, through Jesus Christ our Lord." I looked at him, but I could not speak—such a light seemed all at once to flash upon me. He went on. I cannot tell all he said, only he made it plain to me from many places of Scripture that nothing we could do could save ourselves. That God had appointed another way, easy and plain, namely, faith in His dear Son, whom He had sent to die for our sins and to rise for our justification. That He, by His one oblation of Himself, once offered, had made a full, sufficient, and perfect atonement and satisfaction for the sins of the whole world, and that I should make that atonement mine, and receive all its benefits, the moment I should come to Him in faith and humility, giving myself to Him, and asking God for His sake to receive me. "But what becomes of good works?" I asked. "They are of the utmost value!" he replied. "They show our sincerity to ourselves and to the world, for one thing; and they are a part of the work our Heavenly Father has given us to do, not as task-work to slaves to be sharply exacted and grudgingly paid, but as work laid out for good and loving children that they may both improve themselves thereby, and also help on His plans for the good of all. Tell me, sweetheart, which is best—to make garments for an old woman because she is in need and because she is one of God's creatures whom He loves, or because clothing the poor is one of the corporal works of mercy, and you are laying up just so much merit thereby?" "The first, of course," I answered. "'Love makes easy service,' dear mother used to say. But, my Lord, you say that I have only to believe that this sacrifice was made for me—that I have but to believe and be saved." "Well," he said, kindly. "Then I may know that I am saved now—because I can certainly know that I believe now, as well as I can know anything." "Well, why not?" he repeated. "Is not the knowledge pleasant—to feel that you are the beloved child of God, and an heir to everlasting life?" "So pleasant," I replied, "that I see not what becomes of Mr. Penrose's saying that it behoves us to walk softly and mournfully all our days, in the bitterness of our souls. It seems to me that there is no room for it."