"You can," Ray answered quickly,--"something that I would like better than almost anything else in the world." "What is it?" Bob's question was sincere and eager. "Give yourself to Christ." Bob heard this in grave, earnest silence. "I would," he said after a minute, "if I knew how." "Do you mean that?" "Yes, I do; I'm sick of waiting, and I'm sick of myself." "If I should tell you how, would you do it?" "Yes, I would," spoken evidently with honest meaning. "Kneel down, then, here beside me, and say to God that you want to be a Christian; that you are willing to give yourself up to Him now and for ever, to do just as He tells you." Bob hesitated, struggling a little, and at last knelt down. There was silence in the room, while three sincere hearts were lifted up in prayer; and surely Christ bent low to listen. When Bob would have risen, Bay laid one hand on his arm, and, steadying his throbbing head with the other, said solemnly,-- "Blessed Redeemer, here is a soul given up to Thee. Do Thou take it, and wash it in Thy precious blood, and make it fit for heaven. We ask boldly, because Thou hast promised, and we know that Thy promises are sure." "Edward," Ray said the next evening, as they sat alone, and were silent for a little, after Bob had left them, and gone home rejoicing in the hope of sins washed away, "what was that verse that your minister at home quoted for you in his letter?" "I love the Lord, because He has heard my voice and my supplication," Edward repeated it with brightening eyes. CHAPTER XXVI. "And when they looked, they saw that the stone was rolled away." Onward sped the busy days, until at last there came an evening which made it exactly three years since Edward had first set foot in Albany. They had been years of wonderful progress to him. He had gone on steadily with his evening studies; he had been an eager pupil, and Ray had been a faithful teacher. This evening he sat in the library waiting for Ray, but he had a very troubled face. Once more he took Kitty's long letter out of his pocket. Kitty wrote long letters once in two weeks, but it was a rare thing to have a postscript added by his mother. He turned to this and read it again; it was a very kind one. They were doing well now, so she wrote. Her health was very good, now that she slept quietly at night; and just here Edward knew there had come in a heavy sigh, because there was no constant coughing to disturb her rest. She had steady work, and could support Kitty and herself nicely without his help; he must keep what he earned for himself after this. "Kitty says you want to go to school," so the letter ran; "if you do, save up your money for that. Your poor father had a notion that you would make a scholar; I think it would please him if you did."