spoke of "the child-loved Lover of children," of the Shepherd who gathers the lambs in his arms and carries them in his bosom, who gave his life for the sheep and the lambs so willingly, so patiently, so lovingly. "My little child," she seemed to say to every one present, "he died for thee, he loves thee, he speaks to thee and says, 'My son, or my daughter, give me thine heart, and give it to-day.'"
While she listened, the head of Stéphanie had sunk very low, her face was quite shaded by the broad leaf of her hat, and Clémence saw with wonder that tears were falling quick and fast upon the cherished silk, utterly unheeded by its owner. She tried gently to take her hand; but Stéphanie, with a quick, impetuous movement, drew it away.
When the meeting was at an end, any who wished for private conversation were invited to remain.
"Shall we go home, dear?" Clémence whispered. Stéphanie shook her head with a vehement negative. Her slight frame was quivering with convulsive sobs. After an interval Clémence asked gently, "Why are you weeping so bitterly? Tell me, dear. Is it for your sin?"
The child looked up quickly. "Not all—not most—for that. Most because I have grieved Him, and He is so good."
Clémence said no more; she prayed in silence for her little friend. Her own deep inward life had taught her great reverence for the soul of another. Even in that of a child there might be mysteries with which no hand but God's could deal aright. Stéphanie prayed too, for the first time in her life.
Meanwhile the "Gray Sister of Hearts" was going quietly amongst the children who, like Stéphanie, had remained, advising, comforting, and instructing them, according to the power God had given her. At last she came to Stéphanie. "My little girl, why do you weep?" she asked, with that peculiar tenderness which in great measure accounted for the spiritual magnetism she exercised.
