ONE stormy night, towards the end of November, a young man might have been seen walking quickly through the crowded streets of a great metropolis, heedless of the busy throng as they hurried past him. His face was pale, and wore an anxious, troubled look; and more than one turned to glance as he strode hastily along.
At length, turning down a quiet street, he paused before the door of a dimly-lighted house, and letting himself in by means of a latch-key, was soon stumbling up a narrow, almost perpendicular stair-case.
He was met by an old woman, who, taking him quietly by the arm, led him into a small and somewhat shabbily furnished sitting-room, lighted by a single candle, which stood on a table in the center of the apartment.
“How is she now?” asked the young man anxiously. “Has she been asking for me?”
The old woman shook her head, and wiped away the fast-falling tears with the corner of her rough apron.
“Ah! poor lamb,” said she. “She’ll not last long now; the doctor’s just been, and says she’s very bad—as bad as can be.”
George R—, for such was the young man’s name, turned almost impatiently aside, and throwing himself into an arm-chair by the fire, began vigorously to stir the few dying embers into a blaze, while the old woman silently and sorrowfully left the room.
He had known for some time that his sister was in a serious condition, but had shut his eyes to the fact; it worried him to see her slowly getting worse and worse, and her pale sunken face haunted him continually, in spite of his efforts to dismiss it from his mind. A feeling of remorse and shame came over him as he looked back upon the events of the past two years. How had he fulfilled the promise he had made to his dying mother, that he would be both father and brother to the little sister left in his care? His conscience smote him as he recalled the anxious little face of entreaty raised to his, as evening after evening she had implored him when his day’s work was over to remain at home, instead of joining his thoughtless companions in their various amusements; but he had put her off each time with the same words: “Another day, Nellie, another day.”
And so the weeks and months had slipped by, and little Nellie wandered wistfully about that dismal house with no other companion save the faithful old woman, who had done all in her power to supply the place of mother to the lonely little orphan.
But within the last few months George had noticed a change in his sister. She was no longer listless and sad, and the wistful expression in her blue eyes had changed to one of peace and joy he had never seen there before. Once, hastily entering the little sitting-room, he had caught her poring over the pages of an old Bible that had belonged to his mother, and seeing the rapt look of joy on her young face, had guessed vaguely that therein lay the secret of the change. He learned afterward from the old woman that Nellie had commenced to attend a Sunday school, and since first entering it had not ceased to speak of the new life of “unseen things” that was slowly unfolding itself to her wondering mind.
After this he had avoided her more than ever, somehow he could not bear to meet those gentle imploring eyes, and when once or twice she had spoken to him of the Savior she had learned to know and love, he had answered her quickly and roughly that “Such things were only for old women, and saints like herself!”
It was not to be for long. The lonely life, close confinement, and want of proper care, had told upon the naturally delicate constitution of the child, and, as the days slipped by, she grew weaker and weaker; and now all the care in the world would not save her.
She was dying.
Let us now return to the young man, as he sits brooding over the past. Presently, pushing back his chair and rising hastily, he left the room, and entered another on the same floor. A bright fire burned in the grate, lighting up the poor surroundings with its ruddy, fitful glow.
Upon a bed in the further end of the apartment, supported by pillows, was a little girl, apparently in the last stage of consumption. Her eyes lit up as her brother approached, and stretching out ‘her thin white hand, she said in a voice scarce above a whisper, “Are you angry that I sent for you George? I felt so much worse this evening, I thought I was surely going, and I could not go without one word to you.”
The young man seated himself in silence by the bedside of his dying sister, while she continued in an eager whisper, the hectic flush burning on her cheek “I think I must have fallen asleep after you left this morning; and O! it was all so strange. I felt myself being lifted higher and higher, far away up in the blue sky, till I reached a beautiful shining place. O! so bright it was that I had to shade my eyes as I went along. I heard a thousand voices saying, ‘Come in, little Nellie, there’s plenty of room for you;’ but I did not seem to heed them much, for in the far distance I saw someone beckoning to me with His hand and a voice said close beside me, ‘The Master is calling for you.’ I pressed on and on through the throng, till I came to where He stood. O George, I looked up and saw His face—the face of the blessed Lord Jesus. I can’t tell you what it was like—something I had never, never seen before! He took me by the hand and said, ‘You are welcome, little Nellie! but where is George? Did he not get my message?’ I said, ‘He has had no message, but if you will let me, I will go back and give it to him now.’ He only shook His head: ‘It is too late!’ He said. And then I heard voices everywhere saying, ‘Too late, too late!’”
The child paused to take breath, while her brother sat on in silence. His sister’s strange dream filled him with alarm; his past life rose up like a cloud before him, with its lost opportunities and broken resolutions. For the first time he realized his utterly lost condition, and need of that Savior he had rejected, and trampled underfoot.
Presently, sitting on the bedside, and bending over the dying girl, he said, “It is all true, Nellie, He has sent me message after message, but I have turned a deaf ear each time. I knew of His love, knew He was ready to receive me as His own, but would you believe it, Nellie? I did not want His love, or His pardon for my sins; I was content to go on with the old life of sin and folly, until tonight. I thank God for that dream of yours Nellie. Thank God it is not too late.”
A bright smile lit up the child’s face, she took her brother’s hand between her own, and without another word sank back upon the pillows.
Her happy spirit had fled to be forever with Him, in whose presence there is fullness of joy.
That night George R— found himself, for the first time in his life, in the presence of God. It was a solemn but a saving moment. If his sins as a mountain came before him, and made him tremble and afraid of God so did that grace of God, which bringeth salvation, come up before him and drew his heart to Himself. That night he passed from “death unto life.”
ML-01/18/1920