IT was a dull, dreary afternoon. Mrs. N. settled down in a comfortable chair in her pleasant London drawing-room. She was thankful she need not go out, for she was unwell and very tired. She remembered with dismay that she would have to go out in the evening, but there was the afternoon still before her—a quiet time for rest and reading.
At that moment a visitor was announced, and Mrs. E. entered. Mrs. N. had known Mrs. E. for some years back, but they had nothing in common, and had seen little of one another. Mrs. N., in spite of much lukewarmness, was truly one of the children of God. She knew, and believed, the love He had to her, and she desired, however faintly, to bring others to the knowledge of His love. But when Mrs. E. was announced, no thought but that of annoyance took possession of her. On, what possible subject could she talk to Mrs. E.? To speak of anything above and beyond the earth and earthly things, would be like talking Chinese to her! And what could more add to her weariness than to spend the time in small talk about things in which she had no manner of interest?
Yes, alas! her weariness was the uppermost thought, and she consoled herself with the hope that in a quarter of an hour this visit would he over. But the quarter passed, and half an hour passed, and three quarters of an hour, and Mrs. E. sat there with no apparent intention to move. Her sleepy, expressionless face grew more and more wearisome to Mrs. N. Her languid voice, too; even her dress, in the height of fashion, which told a tale of little interest in anything but the concerns of this world—all was wearisome.
Slowly it dawned upon Mrs. N. (strange that it should have been so slowly!) that the Lord had sent Mrs. E. to her house that day, and had given her an opportunity she might never have again. And that, unlike the Lord, when weary with His journey, He sat upon the well, she had thought only of her weariness, and had not thirsted for the soul whom God had sent in her way. But what should she say ? and how should she begin ? Her visitor looked as if no subject in heaven or earth could be of the slightest interest to her.
Mrs. N. asked her where she went to church. Mrs. E. answered by naming the church, and there was a silence.
“Mr. M’s sermons at St. Paul's are very interesting," said Mrs. N., “I advise you to go and hear him."
“Oh, indeed!” was the reply, in sleepy tones; and again there was a silence.
“Or Mr. R.," continued Mrs. N.; "I am sure you would find his sermons would help you, and it would be nearer."
"Yes," answered Mrs. E., slowly, "but I go where my husband goes."
A longer silence—broken by some insignificant remark of Mrs. E.'s about the weather, and again a silence. Then Mrs. N. talked about some little trifles, whilst thinking what to say next. Mrs. E.'s answers became shorter and more languid, and the silences became longer. An hour had passed away!
Mrs. N. now made a reflection it would have been well to have made before, that the way to reach the heart is a straight and not a circuitous road, and almost desperately she said, looking earnestly at her visitor, " Mrs. E., tell me, Are you saved ?"
In a moment the expressionless face of Mrs. E. lighted up into the intensity of interest.
“No," she said, "I am not, and that is why I came to you. I have been utterly miserable. I knew we were none of us saved, and longed—how I longed—that my husband and children might be saved; but then I knew was not saved myself, and that I could be of no good to them. And I thought I would give all I have if I knew how to be saved. I went to the houses of all the people I know, who belong to what we call the `good set.' I thought they would tell me, but I dared not begin; and they talked about pictures, and. about riding, and I don't know what, and they never spoke of God. At last I thought I would come to you, and I waited all this time, hoping you would say something about Him; and, oh! how thankful I am you have asked me that question. How I was longing to ask you what I should do-but I was afraid to ask. Will you not tell me now?"
It is needless to say that the second hour passed only too quickly. Mrs. N. forgot her weariness, and Mrs. E. listened as for her life. It was all new to her—how new we often forget when with those who have been well-taught the knowledge which is to fit them for this world, but never taught the knowledge of Him, Whom to know is life eternal.
It was new to her that she had nothing to do, that Christ had done the whole work which saves the soul. It was new to her that He had loved her even when she was dead in sins—that He had died and lived to save her, and to make her to be a well of living water in her turn to the dead souls around.
Mrs. E. believed simply, as a little child, and became a faithful and loving witness for Christ in her home, and amongst her friends and neighbors. Four or five years later she died, rejoicing in the Lord. And Mrs. N. never forgot how nearly this soul had been left in darkness through her indolence and self-seeking, through her little faith and little love, and she asked the Lord to remind her continually how many troubled hearts and awakened consciences are hidden behind the faces which often look expressionless, because the things of the earth have ceased to charm them, and there is nothing to fill the void.
O Lord, give us Thine eyes to see, and Thine heart to care for these hungry souls—souls more hungry than are the bodies in famine-stricken Russia, more hungry, and less pitied—overlooked and neglected, except for Thy care and love.
F. B.