“Mary, Mary, do you think He _could_ have lived those thirty-three
years, and be cruel to you now? Think that over and over; only that. It
may be the only thought you dare to have,--it was all I dared to have
once,--but cling to it; _cling with both hands_, Mary, and keep it.”
I only put both hands about her neck and clung there; but I hope--it
seems, as if I clung a little to the thought besides; it was as new and
sweet to me as if I had never heard of it in all my life; and it has not
left me yet.
“And then, my dear,” she said, when she had let me cry a little longer,
“when you have once found out that Roy’s God loves you more than Roy
does, the rest comes more easily. It will not be as long to wait as it
seems now. It isn’t as if you never were going to see him again.”