The Angel of His Presence by Grace Livingston Hill Read Free Book Online Page B

had given up many things to please her. He would not find it so very hard to do the same.
    How earnest she had been! What a world of new meaning seemed to be invested in the sacred scene of that picture after she had been talking about it. He had followed up her desire to read the account with it in view, and begged her most eagerly to come and read it and let him be a humble listener, offering also in a wistful tone, which showed plainly that he hoped she would accept the former, to let her have the picture at her home for a time.
    It would be v ery pleasant to read any thing, even the Bible, with this interesting young person and study the workings of her min d. He could see that she was un usual. He must carefully study the subject so as not to be behind her in Bible lore, for it was likely she knew all about it, and he did not wish to be ashamed before her. He reached over to the table where he had laid the little fine print Bible they had been consulting earlier in the evening. It had been so long since he had made a regular business of r eading his Bible that he scarce ly knew where to turn to find the right passages again, but after fluttering the leaves a few minutes he again came to the place and read: "Now when the even was come, he sat down with the twelve. And as they did eat, he said, Verily I say unto you, that one of you shall betray me."
    The young man stopped reading, looking up at the picture involuntarily, and then dropped his eyes to the fire. What was it that brought that verse home to himself? Had he in any sense betrayed his Lord? Was it only t he natural inquiry of the truth ful soul on hearing those words from the Master and on looking into his eyes to say sorrowfully, "Lord, is it I?" or was there some reason for it in his own life that made him sit there, hour after hour, while the bright coals faded, and the ashes dropped away and lay still and white upon the hearth?
    Thomas, the man, looked silently in once or twice, and marveled to find his master reading what seemed to be a Bible, and muttered, "That pictur e ," to himself as he went back to his vigil. At last he ventured to open the door and say in a respectful tone, "Did you call me, sir?" which roused the master somewhat to the time of night, and moved him to tell his man to go to bed and he would put out the lights.
    The days that followed were filled with things quite different from what John Stanley had planned on his return voyage. He made a good start in his business, and settled into regular working hours, it is true; but in his times of leisure he quite forgot that he had intended to have nothing to do with the mission people. He spent three evenings in helping to cover Sunday school library books and paste labels into singing books. Prosaic work and much be neath him he would have considered it a short time ago, but he came home each time from it with an exhilaration of mind such as he had never experienced from any of the whist parties he had attended. It is true there were some young men and young women also pasting labels, whose society was uninteresting, but he looked upon even those with leniency. Were they not all animated by one common object, the good work for the mission? And there was also present and pasting with the others, with deft fingers and quiet grace, that one young girl around whom all the others seemed to gather and center as naturally as flowers turn to the sun. She seemed to be an inspiration to all the others.
    John Stanley had not yet confessed that she was an inspiration to himself . He only admitted that her society was helpful and enjoyable, and he really longed to have her come and read those chapters over with him. Just how to manage this had been a puzzle. Whenever he spoke of it the young lady thanked him demurely, and said she would like to come and look at the picture sometime; but he had a feeling that she would not come soon, and would be sure he was not at home then before she ventured. This was