“She’s been calling for you ever since she was brought here. She said you would know what she ought to do.”

“Darling!” murmured Constance from a dry throat and could think of nothing more.

“Oh, don’t waste time,” cried out the anguished girl. “Tell me something quick! He said I might go any minute. I heard him. He didn’t know I heard him. He thought I was unconscious, but I wasn’t. Tell me something quick to do to be safe. What are you going to do when you die?”

Constance had never thought of that before. The question stabbed its way into her own soul. It was as if she were anguished not only for this friend of hers but for her own self, too.

“Do you want me to send for the college chaplain?” she asked frantically at length when she could bear Doris’s importunity no longer.

“Not on your life,” said Doris. “I’ve listened to him four years and he never told us how to die. Why would he know any better now? Can’t you tell me yourself, Connie? Wasn’t there something said the day you joined the church? Oh, Connie, I can’t go out like this. Hurry! Hurry! Can’t you think of something to tell me? They want to give me dope to dull the pain, but I know that’ll be the end. I won’t have another chance after that. And I’m afraid, Connie, afraid to go to sleep like that and wake up—Where? Connie, I’m going to die, right away, pretty soon! Do you realize that? I’m not going to graduate, I’m going to die! I never somehow thought I’d die! Oh, what shall I do? You must tell me. Connie!”

Constance desperately struggled for words, thinking back to that Easter Sunday.

“You have to be saved, Dorrie.” The strange words struggled to her white lips.

“Saved, but how?”

“You have to be born again,” she said, snatching at another word from memory.

“How could one do that, Connie? Oh, hurry! Tell me quick! This pain is something awful!”

Constance gripped her hands together in anguish.

“Why, you just believe and it happens.” She struggled with the torturous alien phrases, surprised to find them indelibly stamped on her memory. How had he put it that day, the handsome stranger? Oh, if he were but here now! He could tell her.

“Believe what, Connie?” Doris clutched at Constance’s wrist until it hurt her.

“Why, believe God. Oh, I don’t know, Dorrie, I don’t know just how they say it. But I’m sure there’s a way and you needn’t be afraid.”

“Oh, Con, if you could just find someone who knows the way before it is too late! Oh, isn’t there someone, someone? Not the one that talked about sweetness and light, nor the one who preached about finding God in nature, nor the one who said that about the greatest sin being the sin against your own personality. I want somebody real, Connie. Don’t you know anybody, not anybody who is sure about what comes after we die? Listen, Connie, I’ve been an awful sinner! I never thought so before, but now I know it! I’ve been thinking of all the things I’ve done—Oh, Connie, I can’t die this way! Can’t you find someone? Isn’t there anybody in the whole world that knows about God?”

“Yes!” said Constance, suddenly springing to her feet. “I know one. I’ll try to get him. You lie still, Doris, and just be as quiet as you can. I’ll get him somehow or make him tell me what to tell you.”

“I will, Connie, but hurry! Oh, hurry!”

Constance, breathless, flew down the hall to the telephone and asked for Long Distance. Her heart was beating wildly. Never in any stress of her own life had she felt so helpless, so utterly frightened, so frantic. She closed her eyes and tried to think what she should say to the operator. He was Mr. G.