"
"Jesus was a beautiful character," said Susan, taking up Emma's Bible,
beside which the red-covered novel lay blushing as if in an agony of
shame. "I have often felt," she continued, "a strong desire to visit
the places hallowed by his personal ministry; the garden where he kept
his sad night-watch, Miss Lindsay; the Mount of Olives, and the
clear-gliding Kedron. O," continued Susan, enthusiastically, "I should
like to stand where the Marys stood, on the dreadful day of his
crucifixion, and visit the tomb where they went, bearing sweet spices.
O, wouldn't it be delightful?"
"Yes," replied Emma, languidly; "but we should not find him there
now,--upon Calvary, or the Mount of Olives; by the sweet-gliding
Kedron, or in the Garden of Gethsemane,--unless we were like him, meek
and lowly, and such can find him anywhere, Miss Sliver. The spirit of
Jesus would hallow _this_ book, making it blessed and holy like the
waters of Kedron; and this high hill might be to us what the Mount of
Olives was to the disciples--for that was sacred only because Jesus
talked with them there. Dora told me last night that the Holy Spirit
could make any place holy."
Susan was silent. Emma had spoken words to which something within bore
witness as truth, and she knew not what to say. Emma, too, lay musing
for some time; and then raising her head, and resting it upon her hand,
she said: "How wonderfully self-denying Jesus was, Miss Sliver.
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