,
which all the night she could not do."

"Nor you neither."

"O that's nothing. I don't mind that at all. It was worth watching, to
see the dawn."

"Was the woman in so much pain?" Mr. Rhys asked.

"No; not bodily; she was uneasy in mind."

"In what way."

"Afraid of what lies before her; seeing dimly, if at all."

"Was she comforted by what you told her?"

"I had very little to tell her," said Eleanor; "I had no Bible; I had
forgotten to take it; and hers was gone. I had to get what I could from
memory, for I did not like to give her anything but the words of the
Bible itself to ground hope upon."

"Yes, but a good warm testimony of personal experience, coming from the
heart, often goes to the heart. I hope you tried that."

Eleanor had not; she was silent. The testimony she had given in the
class-meeting somehow she had been shy of uttering unasked in the ear
of the dying woman. Was that humility--or something else? Again Mr.
Rhys had done for her what he so often did for her and for
others--probed her thoughts.

"It is a good plan," said Mrs. Caxton, "to have a storehouse in one's
memory of such things as may be needed upon occasion; passages of
Scripture and hymns; to be brought out when books are not at hand. I
was made to learn a great deal out of the Bible when I was a girl; and
I have often made a practice of it since; and it always comes into
play."

"I never set myself lessons to get by heart," said Mr. Rhys. "I never
could learn anything in that way. Or perhaps I should say, I never
_liked_ to do it. I never did it."

"What is your art, then?" said Mrs. Caxton, looking curious.

"No art. It is only that when anything impresses itself strongly on my
feelings, the words seem to engrave themselves in my memory. It is an
unconscious and purely natural operation."

Eleanor remembered the multitudinous quoting of the Bible she had at
different times heard from Mr. Rhys; and again wondered mentally. All
that, all those parts of the Bible, he had not set himself to study,
but had _felt_ them into his memory! They had been put in like gold
letters, with a hot iron.

"Where is this woman?" Mr. Rhys went on.

"She lives alone, in the narrow dell that stretches behind Bengarten
Castle--and nearly in a straight line with it, from here. Do not go
there this morning--you want rest, and it is too far for you to walk. I
am going to take you into my garden, to see how my flowers go."

"Won't you take