Chapter II: A Sad Farewell

IT was Sunday night, some weeks later. The bells of the churches rang clearly on the keen frosty air, and from the squares and terraces lying near the Edgware Road numbers of well-dressed folks were hastening to attend evening service. Not that all who trod the pavements were abroad for so good a purpose. There were at least as many pleasure-seekers as church-goers passing along the road. The clatter of cabs and omnibuses was almost as great as on a week-day. Here and there a shop might be seen open, whilst at every corner stood groups of idle lads and giddy girls, whose empty laughter fell harshly on the ear. Wending her way amidst the motley crowd of pleasure-seekers and church-goers, with quick step and eager anxious face, came little Molly.

But it was neither pleasure nor piety which had brought her forth on this sharp winter's night. She knew little enough of either, poor child. She had never been inside a church in her life, and her knowledge of religion was limited to some vague notions picked up in the days when her father had been able to send her to school. She knew the name of God as that of a mighty Being who lived in a far-off place called heaven. But of the Father's love for His children, and the Son He gave to save them, she was as ignorant as any heathen child.

Perhaps if her mother had lived, Molly would have learned to love the Saviour. But her father had no religious faith, and his children had grown up with scarce any knowledge of Christian truth.

It was a sad errand on which Molly was bound this evening. She was hurrying along to find the parish doctor, and get him to come to her father, who to-night was so very ill that even Kathleen was alarmed. He had not gone to work since the day when he returned home so ill. His strength had declined rapidly from that time, and now for many days, he had been unable to leave his bed.

Molly gained the doctor's door only to learn that he was from home, and would not be back for some hours. She was cast down at hearing this. But the servant promised to tell the doctor of her father's case as soon as he should return. And with this promise, Molly had to be content.

Weary and sad, the child turned her steps towards home. As she drew near the house, she saw a crowd of persons gathered at the corner of the street, to listen to the words of a young man who was addressing them in clear, animated tones. Molly looked curiously at the people, but was passing on her way, when the speaker's words reached her ear, and so attracted her that she could not help standing still to listen.

"Friends," she heard him say, "I have good news for you to-night. Yes, good news for every one of you. No matter how poor and sad, how wicked and miserable you may be, there is a Friend who loves you. He loves you, but He does not love your sin. No; He wishes to save you from your sin, for it is your greatest misery, and He can save you, however vile and bad you may be, if only you will put your trust in Him. You may have wandered far, far from all that is good and holy, you may have gone astray like a lost sheep, but you have not got beyond the reach of this Friend, 'for the Son of man is come to seek and to save that which was lost.'

"I wonder if any one of you knows what it is to be lost? Have you ever been benighted on a dreary moorland, and wandering from the track lost yourself on the wild waste, without a guide, without a light, all alone in the darkness?

"Ah! If so, you remember how glad you were when you saw the gleam of a light, or heard the sound of a voice, or felt the grasp of a friendly hand willing and able to guide you on your way.

"Friends, there are many lost souls in this great city of London. What a wilderness it is, with its numberless streets and lanes, its dark courts and slums! What pitfalls there are to catch unwary feet; what perils, seen and unseen, on every hand! Oh! The sin and misery which lie around us! But in the midst of it all, the Son of man is seeking His lost children. He is calling them to come to Him that He may make them good and happy. Oh! Who would wander alone in such a desert, when there is this loving Friend waiting to lead willing feet out of the darkness and danger into the safe and happy pastures where the Good Shepherd feeds His flock? The Son of man is come to seek and to save that which was lost."

Molly heard no more. She would have liked to listen longer, but she dare not stay. "I wish I knew what it all meant," she said to herself, as she ran home.

Her face grew very grave when she entered the room and saw her father's state.

He was lying propped up in bed, with a look of bitter anguish on his pale, wasted face, as he struggled for breath. Kathleen stood by the bed, sobbing bitterly, and the landlady of the house, who had come to offer assistance, was also present.

"Is the doctor coming?" asked this woman, when she saw Molly.

"I could not find him," said the child; "he was away from home."

"Ah! Well, it can't make much difference," the woman observed, in an undertone.

Molly wondered what she could mean.

But she did not explain her words, and having done what she could for the sufferer, she went down-stairs again.

Molly crept close to the bed, and took her father's hand in hers. He slightly pressed it, then extending the other, signed to Kathleen to come nearer. She came and stood by Molly.

"Kiss me, my darling child," he said.

Kathleen stooped down and kissed him. Molly too pressed forward for a kiss, but her father scarcely heeded her caress.

"My pretty Kathleen," he said, tenderly and sorrowfully, "my precious child, how can I leave you? Yet I must, I must. There is no help for it now."

"Oh, father! Do not talk so," cried Kathleen, in a passion of tears; "you cannot, you must not leave me."

"There is no help for it," he repeated, mournfully; "do you think I would not stay, if I could? How can I bear to leave you all alone? What will become of you, with no one to take care of you? You will be lost, you and Molly, in this wilderness of London!"

"This wilderness of London!" Molly thought of the preacher's words in a moment.

Would it comfort her father to hear what she had heard? It was not easy to speak, with such a lump rising in her throat, but she forced back her sobs, and asked in a little, quavering voice, "Father, have you ever heard tell of the Son of man?"

He started at her words, and turned his eyes upon her with an eager, wistful gaze.

"Molly, what do you mean? Who has been speaking to you?"

"It was a man I heard in the street," she said; "he kept saying these words:

"'The Son of man is come to seek and to save that which was lost.'"

"Tell me," he said, feebly, still with that painful, yearning look—"tell me all that he said."

As well as she could, Molly repeated what she had heard the preacher say.

Her father seemed to drink in eagerly every word she uttered. And when she stopped, he begged her to tell him more.

Molly could only say the same again.

"Ah! I have heard that before," said her father; "your mother used to talk like that. She believed in religion, but I never did. I wish I knew if it were true. But it's too late now. Oh, if only I had thought more about these things when I was well and strong. Oh, children, don't think to make yourselves better when you lie on a death-bed. It is too late then, depend upon it. Your mother used to tell me that I must repent and believe, but how can I repent now? I don't know how to repent and believe. It's too late—too late!"

He ended with a groan, and quite exhausted with the effort he had made to utter these words, said no more.

It was piteous to see his mournful look, but what could little Molly in her ignorance say to comfort him? Nothing. All she could do was to show her loving sympathy by keeping close to his side, and tenderly stroking his wasted hand.

For a long time there was silence in the room, broken only by the sound of the sufferer's labouring breath. Kathleen crouched sobbing on the hearth-rug, whilst Molly sat beside the bed holding her father's cold, clammy hand in hers. The evening wore on, but the doctor did not come. Gradually the noises in the house ceased, as one after another the lodgers retired to rest.

Kathleen had sobbed herself to sleep, and Molly was growing drowsy, when she felt her father's hand move in hers. Wide awake in a moment, she turned towards him. He was leaning forward, and looking at her with such a strange, piteous look. He tried to speak, but his voice had grown so faint that she had to put her ear close to his lips in order to catch the words.

"Molly," he whispered, "promise me you will always take care of Kathleen. You are younger than she, but you are wiser than your age. She is not like you. You must watch over her. Promise me."

"I will, father. I will indeed," said Molly, tremulously, "but oh, father, why do you say this?"

He did not reply, and there was silence again.

Molly was trembling with fear, but her father's hand lay in hers, and she could not move to rouse Kathleen. After a few moments, he once more strove to speak, but she could with difficulty make out his meaning.

"Say it again," he seemed to say, and then she caught the words—"about the Son of man."

"You want me to tell you what I heard the man say?" asked Molly.

He gave a feeble sign of assent, and slowly and distinctly Molly repeated the words—

"'The Son of man is come to seek and to save that which was lost.'"

Again his lips moved, and Molly, bending down, heard him murmur, "I'm lost—lost! Oh, if only—"

The voice died away in inarticulate mutterings. But after a time, she fancied she heard him whisper—"to seek and to save—to seek and to save."

He said no more, and the hand that she held seemed to grow cold and heavy in her grasp. Little Molly gently rubbed it between her own hands, then held it to her bosom, vainly trying to warm it, for it remained cold as ever. Her father's breathing grew more slow and irregular. But the child knew not what it meant, till at last there came a long, deep sigh, followed by utter silence.

Molly's own heart seemed to stand still in that sudden hush. For a few moments, no sound broke the stillness. Then some cinders fell with a clatter from the fire to the hearth, and Kathleen started and awoke.

"Oh, Molly, how is father?" she cried, as she rubbed her eyes and looked towards the bed. "Is he asleep?"

Yes, truly he was asleep; but it was the sleep of Death.