He told her that the funeral would be at the village church the next day, and therewith his voice broke, and for the first time his heart heaved and his eyes filled. “I wanted to know because I am going to send some flowers,” she said; and then, observing the signs of his emotion and his averted face, she suddenly and impulsively caught his hand and pressed it between both of her own. “Don't, don't cry!” she pleaded. “I couldn't stand to see it!” Her own lashes were wet and her sweet mouth was drawn tight. “Oh, I wish there was something I could do or say, but I can't think of a thing. Yes, there is one thing, and it must help, because the Bible and the wisest men say it will at such times. I have been praying for you, and I am going to keep on doing it. Paul, from what you said the other day, I suppose you--have never been converted?” He shook his head, swallowed, but kept his face turned away, conscious that it was distorted by contending emotions. “I have been,” she said, still pressing his hand, “and, O Paul, it was glorious! It happened at a camp-meeting where mother took me and my cousin, Jennie Buford, in the country below Atlanta, last summer. It was all so wonderful--the singing, shouting, and praying. I was so happy that I felt like flying. Since then I have felt so good and secure and contented. The Bible is full of meaning to me now. I love to read it when I am alone in my room. It is beautiful when you begin to understand it, and know that it is actually the Word of our Creator. I am sure I shall lead a Christian life, as my mother is doing. It has made Jennie happy, too. We are like two twins, you know. We have been together nearly every day since we were babies. There is only a fence between our houses in Atlanta, and she sleeps with me or I with her every night. She was sick last winter, and they thought she was going to die. She thought so, too; she told me so, but would not tell her mother because she would be so broken-hearted. I prayed for Jennie all that night--all night. I hardly stopped a minute.” “And she didn't die?” Paul looked at her with a glance of mild incredulity in his eyes. “No; the doctor said she was better and she got well. It would have killed me if she had been taken, I love her so much. We are so much alike that I often read her thoughts and she reads mine. Many and many a time we have told each other exactly what we were thinking about.” “Thought transference,” he said. “I've read about that. It may be true.” Ethel now released his hand and flushed slightly. “Excuse me,” she faltered, her lashes touching her cheeks. “I hardly knew what I was doing.” It was his turn to color now, and they stood awkwardly facing each other. She, however, recovered herself quickly. “I am going to pray for you more and more now,” she went on, soothingly. “It will surely help you. I know that God answers prayers when they are made in the right spirit. He must help you bear this sorrow, and He will--He will.”