There had been a footstep on the stair, but neither of them had heard it, and when Miss Rose entered the room neither of them saw her, for their eyes were blinded with tears.

“Oh, Aunt Emma!” cried Huldah, springing to her bedside, “I love you!  I do, I do, and—­and oh, I wish someone would tell you all about it, so that you’d understand, and feel happy!”

A soft, light step crossed the room, and a gentle hand was laid on Huldah’s bowed head.  “Dear, shall I try?  Shall we try together?”

Huldah sprang to her feet with a glad cry.  “Oh, Miss Rose, I was longing for you to come.  You can tell Aunt Emma.”

Miss Rose sat down beside the bed, and laid her hand gently on Emma’s hand.  “I wish I was more clever,” she said, wistfully.  “I wish I could make you feel how dearly Jesus has always loved you, how He has wept for you and longed for you, how He has forgiven you all the neglect and insults you have heaped on Him, and has held out His arms, beseeching you to come to Him!  At this very moment He is standing at the door, patiently waiting for you to let Him in.  Will you keep Him outside, dear Emma?”

Miss Rose’s voice died away, and silence reigned in the darkening room; the fire fell together and sent up a cheerful flame, Emma Smith lay thinking,—­“Was it really true that He wanted her?” That she had turned her back on Him, and mocked and insulted Him, she knew, knew better than anyone else could,—­and could He really love her in spite of all?

Miss Rose’s voice broke the silence, singing softly,

    “Knocking, knocking, who is there? 
     Waiting, waiting, oh, how fair! 
    ’Tis a Pilgrim, strange and kingly,
     Never such was seen before;
     Ah, my soul, for such a wonder
     Wilt thou not undo the door? 
     Knocking, knocking—­what, still there? 
     Waiting, waiting, grand and fair,
     Yes, the pierced hand still knocketh,
     And beneath the crowned hair
     Beam the patient eyes, so tender,
     Of the Saviour, waiting there.”

Low sobs broke from the poor soul on the bed, sobs of grief and joy and repentance.  “If He really cares—­if He is really like that!” she sobbed.  “Oh, I want Him!  I do want Him to love and take care of me, too!”

Miss Rose’s arms were round her, her lips were on her brow.  “My dear, He is all that, and more.  He will take care of you always, in this world and the next.  He will love you so that you cannot feel lonely any more.  Put your hand in His, put all your troubles off on His shoulders, trust Him, and follow where He leads you, and nothing can harm you.  Don’t be afraid.  He will lead you to a home, and love and happiness such as no one could know in this world, where we are all so weak and full of faults.”

“Home!  Will it seem like home?” she asked, timidly.