"
"So he has. Jesus Christ has given him a right, if he will. I have
invited you to my house, and asked you to spend the night in this room,
and sleep in this bed. Has any person a right to keep you from doing
so?"
"No." An emphatic nod of the head, and a lingering, almost loving look
at the white bed behind her.
"Then cannot you truthfully say that you have a _right_ to be here?
My dear girl, it is so faint an illustration of what Jesus Christ has
done to give you a right to heaven, that I almost wonder at your
understanding it. But can you imagine something of how I should have
felt had I urged you to come to me night after night, for weeks and
years, and you had turned from me with no answer, or else with scorn?"
"You wouldn't have kept on asking me." Mart spoke with the assurance of
one who had firm faith in her statement.
"No, I presume I should not. I would have said after the third or fourth
invitation, 'If she really will not have anything to do with me I cannot
help it,' and I should have tried to forget you. This is one of the many
differences between Christ and me. He waits, and asks, and _asks_.
How long will you keep Him waiting?"
I have given you only the beginning of the conversation.
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