"_Speak to me for Thy Compassion's sake_," she prayed from the little book of
Confessions that her mother had given her. "_I will follow after Thy Voice!_"
"Would you betray your trust?" asked conscience.
"No, not intentionally."
"Would you desert your post?"
"Never, willingly."
"You have divided the family; taken a little quail bird out of the home-nest
and left sorrow behind you. Would God justify you in that?"
For the first time Susanna's "No" rang clearly enough for her to hear it
plainly; for the first time it was followed by no vague misgivings, no
bewilderment, no unrest or indecision. "_I turn hither and hither; Thy
purposes are hid from me, but I commend my soul to Thee_!"
Then a sentence from the dear old book came into her memory: "_And thy dead
things shall revive, and thy weak things shall be made whole_."
She listened, laying hold of every word, till the nervous clenching of her
hands subsided, her face relaxed into peace. Then she lay down beside Sue,
creeping close to her for the warmth and comfort and healing of her innocent
touch, and, closing her eyes serenely, knew no more till the morning broke,
the Sabbath morning of Confession Day.
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