IN a large house in a fashionable part of London there lived, nearly half a century ago, a family, consisting of a father and mother, eight daughters, and several sons. The eight girls were left almost entirely to the care of a French governess, for their mother was an invalid, and seldom came downstairs. The governess, therefore, who was clever, fascinating, and accomplished, had not merely the studies of her pupils to attend to, but also it was part of her duty to accompany them when going to the houses of their acquaintances, and to receive and entertain the visitors of the family. The girls, who were devoted to their bright, talented governess, were always glad that she should be with them. She was professedly a Roman Catholic, but all religion appeared to her to be a needless appendage to a life that was well filled up with studies and amusements.
No Bible was to be seen in that large house except one huge French Bible, which lay on the top shelf of the schoolroom bookcase. “We should as soon have thought of reading the dictionary as reading that Bible,” said one of the girls, when afterward relating her schoolroom experiences. The governess had some Irish cousins, of whom she occasionally spoke with a little sneer; “for,” said she, “they are Piétistes ―a nickname answering to the English” Methodist.” “Only think, they are coming to London,” she announced one day, “and they want me to go to lunch. For the sake of good manners I shall go, and wish it well over.”
“They were not so bad after all,” she said, when she came back. “I thought they would not have two ideas in their heads; but they were pleasant and well-informed, and kind, and they have asked me to go and spend a month with them in Ireland. They say it is a lovely place for sketching, and I shall go.” Accordingly when the holidays came the governess set off on the long journey to the little village of P―, where her cousins had a cottage on the borders of a large and beautifully-wooded park. The sketching was all she could desire, and it also furnished an excuse for escaping from the conversation of her cousins when the subject was not congenial.
One beautiful summer’s day she sat alone in the park, engrossed with a sketch which she had nearly finished. “Your painting must be a great pleasure to you, madam,” said a voice behind her. The lady turned round, and saw a venerable old gentleman who stood there, his long white hair flowing down upon his shoulders. “It is a great pleasure to me,” she replied.
“No wonder,” continued the old gentleman, now speaking in French; “to paint so well must needs be a pleasure.” “Tell me,” he continued, looking earnestly in her face, “do you care as much for the Lord Jesus Christ as you do for your painting?” The only answer that the governess made to this question was to pack up her painting materials as quickly as possible, and to hurry away across the park.
“I am sorry for you,” said the old gentleman, who had followed her some paces.
“I don’t know why you should be sorry for me,” said the governess, in her most dignified manner, “you know nothing about me.”
“I do know,” replied the old gentleman. “I am sorry for you, because you are not a believer in the Lord Jesus Christ, and I know that you can never be happy till you believe in Him and love Him.”
“You know absolutely nothing about me,” repeated the governess, “and you have no right whatever to say I am not a believer in Christ. It is, besides, no concern of yours whether I am or not.”
“It is my concern,” replied the old gentleman, “for I am His servant, sent on His errands. And I do know that you are not a believer in Him; for if you believed in Him you would love Him, and if you loved Him you would have been glad when I mentioned His name, instead of walking away as soon as it had passed my lips. Farewell. I am very sorry for you, and I shall pray for you.”
“I don’t want your prayers,” said the governess; but the old gentleman did not, perhaps, hear the last remark, for he was walking away in the opposite direction.
“I shall take care not to let my cousins know of this,” said the governess to herself; “it would be a fine triumph for them to know someone had told me I was not a believer.” Accordingly the governess said not a word of this strange meeting. But the words of the old gentleman sounded all day in her ears. At night she was suddenly taken ill, a doctor was sent for, who looked seriously alarmed. “She has not twenty-four hours to live,” he said to the anxious cousins.
“She is already delirious,” remarked one of the cousins; “she goes on entreating me to send for the old gentleman. I ask her what old gentleman, and she only replies, ‘He has long white hair.’”
“You must expect her to be delirious,” said the doctor.
So the next day passed. The poor sick lady was suffering fearfully. But she said little of her pain, she only repeated again and again, “I am dying, I am not a believer; the old gentleman said so, and he said the truth. Oh, do, ―do find the old gentleman!”
“Can it be,” said one of the cousins at last, “that there is really an old gentleman somewhere who has spoken to her? Had we not better inquire in the village if such a person has been seen? Let me go and try to find him.”
Very soon the suspicion was confirmed, for one person after another replied, in answer to inquiries, that just such an old gentleman had been seen about for two days past, “and,” said one, “I believe he is staying at the parsonage.”
To the parsonage the cousin betook herself and inquired of the clergyman, the good Dr. Daly, afterward Bishop of Cashel “Yes,” he replied, “the old gentleman is here. He is Dr. Cesar Malan, of Geneva.’
In a few minutes he was on his way to the sick bed of her whom he had seen in the park but the day before.
“Yes,” said the governess as he came in, “that is the old gentleman, and thank God he is come. Oh, sir, I am dying and I am lost. You told me the truth. I am not a believer in the Lord Jesus. I know it now, and it is too late.”
“It is not too late,” replied Dr. Malan. “It was that you might be saved that the Lord sent me with His message to you yesterday. He sends me again now to tell you that there is complete and eternal forgiveness for you, for He Himself bore our sins in His own Body on the cross. He has received the punishment, the whole punishment of all the sins of all who believe on Him. And I ask you in His Name, will you believe Him now? If you but believe Him, you are saved now and forever, all your sin put away, however great, however terrible. And instead of the punishment, God offers you the blessedness in heaven which the blood of His Son has brought.”
Thus did the old gentleman speak, reading at the same time the passages from the word of God which proved his words. And he then knelt and prayed that this poor, trembling sinner might there and then receive forgiveness of sins, and eternal life. The governess took the Lord at His word, and the old gentleman left her that night rejoicing in God’s great salvation.
The joy and peace that filled her heart took effect upon her body. From that moment she began to recover, and at the end of the month she returned to her pupils in London. They had been very anxious about her, and longing for her return. The dining room window was crowded with eager faces as she drove up to the door, and the eight girls welcomed her warmly before she had crossed the threshold. “But,” said one of them afterward, “the strange thing was, that even before she got inside the door, she began to preach to us. She took us to the schoolroom, and took down the old French Bible from the top shelf, and said, ‘Dear girls, you must be still while I read you some of the blessed words out of this book.’ Some of the girls laughed, some implored her not to read the musty book. But she said, Whether you like it or not, I must read it to you. God has saved my soul, and I have prayed to Him to save you all too. Every day, before we begin lessons, I shall read to you out of this book, and tell you as best I can how Jesus saves sinners.’”
The governess fulfilled her intention. She spoke, besides, at all times to her pupils, to their brothers, to the visitors, and to all who came within her reach. Just a year after her visit to Ireland, her illness suddenly returned, and she died praising the Lord. She had abundant cause to praise Him, for during that one year her eight pupils and some of their brothers were truly converted to God. They lived to serve Him in no ordinary manner, and to be the means in their turn of the salvation of many souls. The little seed sown in the park in Ireland is still bringing forth fruit to the praise and glory of the Saviour of sinners. F. B.