“Just as I am without one plea,
  But that Thy blood was shed for me,
  And that Thou bidst me come to Thee,
    O Lamb of God, I come!”

“O God,” she cried, “I can sing that!  I do come, just as I am—­I do come!”

A sweet sense of rest, such as she had never known, stole into Winifred’s heart.  Some One seemed to be welcoming her with ineffable tenderness.  She was not out in the dark, but was at home with God.  The awful presence she had dreaded was infinitely sweet.  At last she stood in the Holy Place, still foolish, weak, unworthy, but with the glory of Another’s name covering her as with priestly robes, and she worshiped.

CHAPTER III

THE CONFESSION

When Winifred awoke the nest morning it was to wonder if it were really true—­if she had come to God and He had received her.  A sweet rest still in her heart testified to a burden lifted.  Her Bible lay open on the little table where she had found the minister’s text while fighting her battle the day before.  A leaf or two had blown over, and she looked down on the sixth chapter of John and read,

“Him that cometh to Me I will in no wise cast out.”

Renewed assurance came with the words.

“I believe it,” she said to herself.  “I have been very false, but He is true.  He says the truth.  I believe it.”

The thought of the choir scarcely entered her mind now in her new-found joy.  The question, to sing or not to sing, had shifted to the deeper one of relationship to God, and the peace that came with its settlement overshadowed everything else.  She went down to breakfast with a light heart and very cheerful countenance.  Hubert looked at her in surprise from under gloomy brows.  His own had been a restless night.

“Has your headache gone, dear?” asked her mother solicitously.

“Oh, long ago, Mother,” said Winifred.  She wanted to tell her mother the better news than of a headache gone, but did not know how to begin.

They talked of ordinary things until breakfast was nearly over.  Then Mr. Gray said: 

“Mr. Mercer was sorry to miss you from the choir last night, Winnie, and hoped you were not going to be ill.”

“Thank you, Father.  Mr. Mercer is always very kind.”

“He hopes you will surely be at the rehearsal Friday night, as he expects to take up some specially fine music.”

Winifred’s heart heat violently as she summoned courage to say: 

“I do not think I shall sing in the choir any more, Father.”

“Why—­what, Winnie?  What’s that you are saying?  You not sing in the choir any more?”

“What are you saying, Winifred,” added Mrs. Gray.

Winifred nerved herself for the statement.  It might as well he said now as ever, while they were all together.