IT was Sunday evening, and some rays from the setting sun beamed through the windows of one of the small-pox hospitals. There was a long room, with its row of beds filled with poor sufferers. Some were tossing about and groaning aloud, others lying in an unconscious state. But I want to tell you about one in particular; we have seen her before in the back room in Peter's Street. It is Mrs. Rogers, and she is much worse. The doctor told the nurse in the morning that he thought she would have the disease very badly, and he was afraid that she would not get over it.
About the middle of the afternoon she fixed her eyes upon a verse of Scripture which was printed on a card and hung upon the wall opposite her bed. It was this-"The wicked shall be turned into hell, and all the nations that forget God.”
"'The wicked'-Oh! I am one of them-'shall be turned into hell, and all the nations that forget God;' then that's where I must go, for I have done nothing but forget Him; but I can't, I daren't. Woman," she called to the nurse, "take that readin' away. I can't bear it; I won't see it.”
The nurse came to her bedside, and begged her to be quiet, smoothing down the untidy bedclothes, and telling her that she disturbed the other sick ones.
"Then take away that readin'," she cried.
The nurse replied, it was against orders; she could'nt do it, but advised her to turn her head away so that she could not see it.
"It ain't no use," said the woman; "them words stare me in the face, ‘The wicked shall be turned into hell.' Oh! I have been a wicked woman, but I shall get better. Promise me I shall get better.”
"I hope so," answered the nurse, "but 'tis not likely, if you excite yourself so. Wait a bit, here's the good lady. I'll ask her to speak to you, she may be able to give you some help;" and, in the course of a few minutes, a person in a neat dark dress was standing by Mrs. Rogers' bedside, and in a kindly voice said, "What is the matter with you, my poor woman?”
"I am very bad," she groaned; "my head is dreadful, and them words dance before my eyes, The wicked shall be turned into hell. I'm afraid, I'm going there, for I have been ever so bad, and I don't believe I shall get over this. So please take the readin' away. I can't bear it.”
The lady rose, and removed the card to a higher part of the ward, and hung another in its place.
"I hope this will bring you comfort," she said, repeating those precious words, "‘The blood of Jesus Christ, His Son, cleanseth us from all sin.' It is true that the wicked-that is, those who die in their sins-can never enter heaven; but God loved sinners, and sent His beloved Son into the world to die instead of them; to bear the punishment they deserved. And the Lord Jesus has done it. He shed His precious blood on the Cross, and was laid in the grave, but rose again, and now from God's right hand offers you pardon. Yes, though you may have forgotten Him, He will pardon your sins, if you are truly sorry for the past, and trust in the Lord Jesus Christ alone.”
The woman lay still, and said quietly, "Let that readin' stay there, I like it better than the other. But there's something I want to say to you, whether I live or die. Will you hear it? It's a sin that's weighing me down; perhaps if I confess it, God will forgive me.”
"God will only forgive you for Jesus' sake, that is, if you believe God's Word, which says Jesus put away sin on the Cross. Still it is right to confess to God and man, and I am quite willing to hear what you have to say, but you must keep as quiet as you can.”
"Oh! my head is dreadful bad, and my body is in great pain, but it's nothing to my mind. There is words which was said to me four years ago that rings in my ears, and if you'll be so good as to listen, ma'am, I'll tell you all about it," said Mrs. Rogers, groaning uneasily.
"Four years ago, my sister-in-law was living at Hornsey, and I lived in Kentish Town, some two or three miles off. Well, she was took very ill of a fever, and when she thought she was dying, she sent for me. I went to her bedside, and there she lay looking very ill. ‘Oh Polly,' she said, in a low tone, I am glad to see you; I shan't get over this, and I want to know whether you will take care of my baby for a time when I'm gone. She is just a year old, and too young to shift for herself. I have saved five pounds, which I'll give you as a start, and my husband will let you have more in six months' time. Will you take the little thing-she's a pretty dear-and care for her like your own? Bring her up with your Ben.”
"Well, my lady, the money was tempting, and I agreed to do it. She asked me to take the baby away with me then, for the doctor had said it ought not to be in the house with the fever. The little thing was brought to the door of the room where its poor mother was lying, so that she might see it once more "-
Here Mrs. Rogers shifted uneasily, and groaned again, but went on.
"The baby was such a pretty child; very small it was, with large gray eyes, and light curly hair. I took it in my arms, and the poor mother said, ‘You will be good to her, sister, won't you? and promise me faithfully that you'll bring her up in the right way. Let her see her father once a month, and when she is four years old I wish her to come back to him. Take my hand, and promise me that you'll attend to these things.'
"She did not speak as I am speaking now, but gasped between her words; she was sinking fast as it seemed, and the perspiration stood on her face. I took her hands, and I promised to do as she told me, and carried the child away. Oh I shall never forget the look she gave as the baby threw out its arms to her, for she might not kiss the little thing. The poor mother turned away her head and sobbed, ‘Oh, my darling, my sweet one, I may never see your pretty face again.'
"I can't say much more now. I took the child home, and my husband he got hold of half the money directly, and spent it; and I had some debts to pay, and at the week's end it, was all gone. I called to hear how my sister was, and they said she was getting a little better.
"What was I to do? I could'nt return her the money if she got well, and the worst was that the baby sickened, and I fancied it would die, so we moved away where they could not find us.
"The child did not die. She's living still: a delicate little thing with large gray eyes, that can't meet, they look so pitiful; and she is not like other children, she does not care for noisy play. Her whole heart is wrapped up in my Ben, and his in her. She's been useful to me, for before we moved away from Kentish Town, a woman told me I could make a fortune out of her by begging along with her, and her pretty little sad face drew many a penny, so I did not like to part with her; and, God knows, I've broken my word to her mother, and I've left her to get along as best she could. Often I've wished she'd die; and only a little while ago I thought I'd take her back to her friends, and through another party get the reward they offered, but my heart failed me, and now I'm here and may not get well. Oh! promise me, that if I die, you'll find Kit out, and send her home.”
"I will, indeed, as soon as I have the opportunity, if you can give me your address and that of her friends.”
The woman did so, and sunk back exhausted with her eyes fixed upon the verses opposite to her. Blessed words which have brought peace to many a sin-stricken soul.
The next morning Mrs. Rogers was unconscious, and on the Tuesday evening she died. The disease had turned inwards. A person sleeping in the next bed told the good lady that the poor woman had been repeating the two verses, and running them together all that Sunday night, saying, "The wicked shall be turned into hell," but "The blood of Jesus Christ, His Son, cleanseth us from all sin." Here we must leave her. God alone sees the heart, and knows in such cases whether there is true repentance and faith in the Lord Jesus Christ; but of this we are sure, the Judge of all the earth will do right.
Mrs. Rogers' kind friend was kept busily employed for three months at the hospital, as fresh cases were brought in constantly. At the end of that time she made inquiries about little Kit, but she had left Peter's street, and it was another month before she found a clue to where Mr. Rogers had gone.