s he entered, and held
out her hand. "God has sent you," she said, looking at Emma, "to save
my heart from breaking."

Lewis again knelt beside her and put her hand to his lips, but he had no
power to utter a word. Presently, as the poor girl's eye fell on the
bed, there was a fresh outburst of grief. "Oh, how he loved me!--and
how nobly he fought!--and how gloriously he conquered!--God be praised
for that!"

She spoke, or rather sobbed, in broken sentences. To distract her mind,
if possible, even for a little, from her bereavement, Emma ventured to
ask her how she came there, when her father became so ill, and similar
questions. Little by little, in brief sentences, and with many choking
words and tears, the sad story came out.

Ever since the night when her father met with Lewis at Saxon, he had
firmly resisted the temptation to gamble. God had opened his ear to
listen to, and his heart to receive, the Saviour. Arriving in London
with the money so generously lent to them by Lewis, they took a small
lodging and sought for work. God was faithful to His promises, she
said; he had sent a measure of prosperity. Her father taught music, she
obtained needlework. All was going well when her father became suddenly
ill. Slowly but steadily he sank. The teaching had to be given up, the
hours of labour with the needle increased. This, coupled with constant
nursing, began to sap her own strength, but she had been enabled to hold
out until her father became so ill that she dared not leave him even for
a few minutes to visit the shops where she had obtained sewing-work.
Then, all source of livelihood being dried up, she had been compelled to
sell one by one the few articles of clothing and furniture which they
had begun to accumulate about them.

"Thus," she said, in conclusion, "we were nearly reduced to a state of
destitution, but, before absolute want had been felt by us, God
mercifully took my darling father home--and--and--I shall soon join
him."

"Say not so, darling," said Emma, twining her arms round the poor
stricken girl. "It may be that He has much work for you to do for Jesus
_here_ before He takes you home. Meanwhile, He has sent us to claim you
as our very dear friend--as our sister. You must come and stay with
mamma and me. We, too, have tasted something of that cup of adversity,
which you have drained to the very dregs, my poor Nita, but we are
comparatively well off now. Mamma will be so glad