"Not now, for I only want to talk with them. But tell me, Quaker--tell me if you want one thing more than any other in this world, and I will ask them to give it to you. Is there any one that you want to love you? For they can easily help you, as they have made me love you, and made you be good to me." "Nay, friend," I said, "even the light from the stars cannot make one care for me who would not." Then she cried out that I was sorrowful, and that I made her heart heavy--I who had always been a comfort and a guidance before. "I will be so to thee now," I said. "Then give me rest," she cried. "The Lord knows I would give thee rest, O soul! if I could." She looked at me most suddenly--I may say as a flash--and quickly glanced in at my room. "Then I think I can rest in your room," she said. "Thee shall do so." Then I put on my hat and prepared to go out, and friend Afton said it was a relief to have one so obliging in the house. "Farewell to thee," I said to friend Jordan. She stood inside my doorway and looked at me. "'Come unto Me, all ye that labor and are heavy-laden, and I will give you rest,'" she said, and moved like a spirit toward me, placed her lips upon my cheek, and went in and closed the door. It was the first time any woman save my mother had ever kissed me. Those words made me feel that they applied to me, youth is so vain and exacting even of the Lord's words. Nevertheless, as I went along the dark streets I heard them ringing in my ears with such a benign meaning as I never had understood in them before.