Chapter V: A Happy Christian

FROM the first Marion had been agreeably impressed with Mr. Angus; though after hearing from Aunt Thankful of his first sermon and his cry for help after the evening service, agreed with her aged friend that he must have known real sorrow; sorrow from the effects of which he could not all at once rally. After hearing his prayers, it seemed to her impossible to believe that his sorrow was caused by any act of his own. If so, she was certain that it had been heartily repented of. The scene so innocently referred to by Ethel took hold of her imagination. In the solitude of his chamber he knelt, his little pet by his side, her hand held fast in his, while tears ran down his cheeks, as he implored forgiveness for past offences. Do what she Would, she could not shake off the memories of this scene.

Marion was young in years, only twenty-three her next birthday; but her life had been an eventful one. Blessed with Christian parents, her opening mind eagerly imbibed the practical truths of the Bible. Jesus Christ was embraced as her Saviour from sin in this life, and from the punishment of sin in the life to come. God was to her a tender, loving Father, to whom she might go at any hour, with the same freedom as she approached her earthly father. She realized in an unusual manner His watchful providence, guiding and guarding her at every step of her young life. When at the age of seventeen she was bereft of both her earthly parents, she accepted in all their fulness the promises of God to the fatherless ones, and never had these gracious promises failed.

Her education being incomplete, her guardian' sent her to New York City to the care of her father's sister, an amiable but thoroughly worldly woman. Mrs. Williamson considered her duty accomplished when she had seen her niece arrayed in the most becoming mourning attire, had entered her at a fashionable institution, and introduced her to her own select circle.

But these surroundings, so unlike the quiet refinement of her own sweet home, instead of weaning the young orphan from the pure pleasures of a Christian life, left her with such a yearning for the society of those who sympathized in her dearest joys that she resolved to spend more time than ever in communion with her Saviour. Happy indeed are those who, losing Christian companionship, are driven for comfort to Christ himself. His love can so fill the soul thus depending on Him as to compensate for the loss of every earthly solace.

Marion was allowed to choose her own church, and at once joined a Bible class, where her hunger for instruction so animated her classmates and so encouraged her teacher that the most happy results followed.

During the hours in the day devoted to secular studies Marion worked with all her might. She knew it to be right to do her very best, and even with the branches of exact science, which were irksome, she conquered her reluctance and soon made her mark as a scholar of unusual ability.

Music was, however, her specialty. It was passion with her, and even before her parents' death, her skill as a pianist as well as her power with her voice distinguished her.

"How plainly I can see a Father's hand leading me all the way through!" she used to say. "He gave me the ability to sing, and when the right time came He allowed me the privilege of using my voice for the comfort of others."

She alluded to the fact of being invited by a gentleman connected with her Sunday school to sing for the patients at the "Home for the Sick." In connection with this first visit she used to say,—

"Never did I know such real happiness as when I found myself able to comfort those those poor, weary ones, Christ's own sufferers. When one woman, taking my hand, thanked me with moistened eyes for the words of cheer, it was an impulse I could scarcely resist to fall on my knees and thank her for letting me sing for her. 'You have lighted the path to the grave. I'm not afraid now,' gasped one whose wings were plumed for her flight.

"Oh!" exclaimed Marion, clasping her hands to her breast as she recalled the scene. "Who am I, that I should be so blessed?"

During the summer months Mr. Williamson usually travelled with his family or passed the time at some fashionable resort, and it was his earnest wish that Marion should accompany them.

But after a week spent at a gay hotel she told her uncle she found it unendurable; and insisted on going alone, if he could not find an escort for her, to visit her Aunt Asbury. She arrived when the whole family were watching the fading away of a young life. Helen, the oldest daughter, about whom so many hopes had clustered, the light of the home, the pride of parents and friends, had received a summons to leave all that had hitherto been so dear and enter on the unknown,— the infinite. Shuddering with fear, she turned to her parents for help, but they could only weep and wring their hands. At length their clergyman was summoned, and from this hour his visits were frequent. The knitted brow had given way to a calm seriousness, as with trembling lips she said, "I do believe Christ is my Saviour, and that He will lead me safely home."

Her parents, too, if not really submissive, were trying to say, "Thy will be done."

The coming of Marion at such a crisis was indeed a blessing. Her very first words as she sat down by the bedside, after offering and receiving a loving embrace, lit up the face of the dying girl with a ray of Heaven's own light.

"O Helen, how I wish I could change places with you! Going home to Christ, to be with Him forever, to see the dear saints who have gone before, to talk to them of what Jesus has done for you, to sing with them the new song, 'Worthy the Lamb,' to sit down by the beloved John, to see Peter and hear him repeat the story of his grief at the denial of his Lord, to talk with Moses and Joseph and Samuel, to think that you will be forever free from the struggles with sin, that you will be holy as He is holy. Dear Helen, you are indeed to be envied."

"Yes, I can thank God now." Helen's smile was radiant.

Tears were streaming down Mrs. Asbury's cheeks, but wholly unconscious of them, the lady rose and kissed Marion, saying softly,—

"Thank God you have come! Your visit will do us all good."

Mr. Asbury had not known much of his niece, though he was one of her guardians. He watched her closely, trying to account for the change in his household. Every day rendered it more certain that a grim messenger was hovering about, waiting for an opportunity to enter, but his approach was no longer dreaded. The chamber where the patient sufferer lay seemed the brightest in the house. Marion, who had constituted herself chief nurse, went in and came out with a smile. Her voice was often heard singing there, not sad, pensive strains, but notes with a ring of triumph. The names of our blessed Lord, Jesus, Immanuel, Saviour, were constantly repeated, and dwelt on lovingly. The very words seemed to give strength, even in the lingering echoes.

On one occasion, Mr. Asbury, too anxious to remain long absent from the house, quietly entered the chamber just as Marion began a familiar hymn. He had often heard it before, but never with such a thrill as now. Even the dying girl was joining in the singing.

"How sweet the name of Jesus sounds In a believer's ear, It soothes his sorrows, heals his wounds, And drives away his fear.

"It makes the wounded spirit whole, And calms the troubled breast; 'Tis manna to the hungry soul, And to the weary, rest.

"Weak is the effort of my heart, And cold my warmest thought; But when I see Thee as Thou art, I'll praise Thee as I ought.

"Till then I would Thy love proclaim With every fleeting breath; And may the music of Thy name Refresh my soul in death."

Gazing into that rapt face, so elevated above all the pains and sorrows of earth, the father could not doubt that the prayer in these last lines was answered. The soul was refreshed, invigorated, and made infinitely blessed by the music of that precious name. A prayer rose to Heaven from one hitherto unused to prayer, "Breathe, O Lord, into my soul such love for Thee as may fill my heart with peace and joy when I go down to the dark valley."

The end came at last, suddenly, though long looked for. The messenger was not unwelcome. He was greeted with a smile so sweet, so rapt, that all gazed in wonder. Calmly the dying girl put her hand in his, while Marion in a clear voice repeated the inspired words, "'Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil; for Thou art with me; Thy rod and Thy staff they comfort me.'"