She has
plagued you badly, han't she?"
He might have thought so. The colour which excitement brought
into Ellen's face had faded away, and she had settled herself
back against her pillow with an expression of weakness and
weariness that the strong man saw and felt.
"What is there I can do for you?" said he, with a gentleness
that seemed almost strange from such lips.
"If you would," said Ellen, faintly, — "if you _could_ be so
kind as to read to me a hymn — I should be so glad. I've had
nobody to read to me."
Her hand put the little book towards him as she said so.
Mr. Van Brunt would vastly rather any one had asked him to
plough an acre. He was to the full as much confounded as poor
Ellen had once been at a request of his. He hesitated, and
looked towards Ellen, wishing for an excuse. But the pale
little face that lay there against the pillow — the drooping
eyelids — the meek, helpless look of the little child, put all
excuses out of his head; and though he would have chosen to do
almost anything else, he took the book, and asked her "Where?"
She said, "Anywhere;" and he took the first he saw.
"Poor, weak, and worthless though I am,
I have a rich, almighty Friend;
Jesus the Saviour is his name,
He freely loves, and without end."
"Oh," said Ellen, with a sigh of pleasure, and folding her
hands on her breast, — "how lovely that is!"
He stopped and looked at her a moment, and then went on with
increased gravity —
"He ransom'd me from hell with blood,
And by his pow'r my foes controll'd;
He found me wand'ring far from God,
And brought me to his chosen fold.
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