than all the others put together. And remember this--every time you do
anything at all kind or thoughtful, every time you think of any one or
care for them, every time you use your influence for good in any way, my
power over you is a little stronger, I shall be a little closer to you,
your escape will be a little harder."

"Oh, you needn't flatter yourself," she answered Him. "There's precious
little danger of _my_ self-sacrifice or love for others. That's not
going to be my attitude to life at all. You'd better not waste your time
over me."

She had not, she might triumphantly reflect, during these eight years,
given Him many chances, and yet He was still there. She hated the
thought of His patience, and somewhere deep within herself she dreaded
the faint, dim beat of some response that, like a warning bell across a
misty sea, cautioned her. "You may think you're safe from Him, but He'll
catch you yet."

"He shan't," she replied. "I'm stronger than He is."


II

This must sound, in so prosaic a summary of it, fantastic, but nothing
could be said to be fantastic about Sarah. She was, for one thing, quite
the least troublesome of children. She could be relied upon, at any
time, to find amusement for herself. She was full of resources, but
what these resources exactly were it would be difficult to say. She
would sit for hours alone, staring in front of her. She never played
with toys--she did not draw or read--but she was never dull, and always