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.
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