IN THE HOSPITAL.
LEFT to herself in a strange place, with none but strangers near, and
suffering such pain as she had never known before, Ellen felt very
unhappy. The long ward, with its double row of small white beds, seemed
dreary to her, and she longed to be in her own dear home, tended by her
mother's hands, and cheered by her father's loving words.
The nurse who waited upon her was most kind, and did her best to
comfort the poor girl. But she could not understand the thoughts which
troubled the sufferer's mind, and made her situation so unendurable.
The knowledge that this suffering was the result of her own wilfulness
and folly added to her pain. If only she had had the courage to resist
Julia's persuasions, and act rightly, this trouble would not have
befallen her.
How it would distress her mother to receive a letter from Aunt Matilda
telling her of what had occurred! And Jerry! How sorry Jerry would be!
Ellen could picture the dismay the news would cause in her home. And
the thought that all this might have been prevented if she had but
acted wisely, was not reassuring.
Night approached, and stillness and repose pervaded the ward. Most
of its occupants slept through the night, but there were a few whose
maladies deprived them of rest. Ellen was one of these. Her burns
smarted so sorely that sleep was out of the question, and as the night
wore on her agitation of mind increased.
She began to fear that she might not recover. She had heard of persons
dying from the effect of burns—what if she should die?
Oh, how the thought of death alarmed her! What a terrible sense of
her sinfulness and unworthiness it awakened! How different her past
conduct, which had been so easily excused, looked in the light cast
upon it by that thought! She remembered how of late she had neglected
reading her Bible, and had been glad to banish from her mind the
serious thoughts that had been aroused by Miss Graham's earnest
teaching. How she had suffered herself to be persuaded by Julia into
doing much that she knew to be wrong, and had even uttered words which
were not true. Oh, how the recollection now troubled her!
The pangs of conscience were sharper than her bodily pains.
The fear of dying all unprepared as she was, threw her into an agony.
She longed for the presence of some friend to whom she might confide
all that troubled her, and who could give her comfort. If only Miss
Graham were there!
Ellen raised herself on her elbow, and from her bed in the corner
looked down the long, dimly-lighted ward. Was there any one there so
wicked and miserable as herself? she wondered.
The night nurse was seated at some distance from Ellen's bed, but she
heard her move, and came at once to her.
"Can't you sleep, my dear?" she asked, kindly. "Is the pain very bad?"
"Yes, very, and my head aches, and I am so thirsty," complained Ellen.
The nurse held a glass of toast-water to her lips; then shook up the
pillow, and placed her in a more easy position.
"There, now you will sleep, I think," she said, as she left her side.
But no, there was no rest for that weary, conscience-stricken spirit.
The same thoughts revolved in her mind, the same fears distressed her.
The King of Terrors, like a grim enemy, confronted her, and she saw not
the Prince of Life, who has despoiled him of his power.
But in the midst of her distress, there floated across her mind words
heard some time before and forgotten. What recalled them she knew not.
Doubtless the Holy Spirit prompted their recollection.
"'As many as touched Him were made whole.'"
Long had the words slumbered in her memory; now they awoke, and gave
their message to the heart that so sorely needed it.
She recalled the occasion when she had first heard them. The scene in
Farmer Holroyd's barn presented itself to her mental vision. Again
she saw the earnest young preacher, and the eagerly-listening people.
She remembered the nature of the discourse then uttered; the graphic
description of the leprosy of sin, and the misery and death to which
it would lead. Ah, she understood it all now, as she did not then. The
leprosy was cleaving to her flesh; she felt its contamination, but no
remedy could she command. Yet what did the words say—those words which
she recollected the preacher had bidden her remember?
"'As many as touched Him were made whole.'"
She had heard Christ proclaimed as the Great Physician, she had spoken
of Him as such to her brother, but had all the while been unconscious
of her own need of His healing touch. But now, how precious was the
truth that Christ could make her whole! But would He? Was there any
doubt of His willingness to pardon and cleanse?
No! All who touched Him had been made whole. They had but to come and
be healed. Not one had been rejected as unworthy of the blessing who
sought it at His hands. And He was the same Saviour now as then, "the
same yesterday, to-day, and for ever."
Blessed words! What comfort they brought to Ellen's troubled heart!
Trembling, yet believing, she approached in spirit the Saviour, and
laid her fingers on the hem of His garment, when, lo! Her faith was
rewarded, and she felt in herself that she was whole of her infirmity.
To grief and terror succeeded peace and quietness, and a happy sense of
forgiveness.
Tranquility of mind produces a corresponding state of body. Ellen
became less sensible of pain, and, as the light of morning broke, she
lost all consciousness of it, in refreshing slumber.
On the following afternoon, much to Ellen's delight, Miss Graham
entered the ward.
The faces of all the patients brightened at her entrance, for the
doctor's daughter was a frequent visitor there, and no one was more
welcome. She passed between the rows of beds, having a smile and kind
word for the occupant of each as she passed, and made her way to the
corner where Ellen lay.
"I was so sorry to hear of your accident yesterday," she said, as she
seated herself by Ellen's side. "See, I have brought a few flowers to
cheer you."
As she spoke she placed in the girl's hands a lovely little bunch of
violets and snowdrops. Ellen knew not how to thank her. The sight of
the delicate white blossoms and sweet-scented violets brought tears
to her eyes, for they were like a breath of the old home-life, from
which she seemed now so far removed. They recalled the early spring
days, when, with her little brothers and sisters, she had wandered
in the fields and lanes which lay around her home, looking for the
first snowdrop or searching for the hidden violet, whose presence was
betrayed by its perfume.
"Oh, thank you, thank you! How beautiful they are!" she said, as soon
as she could speak. "It is almost as good as being at home, to see
these flowers."
But the sigh in which Ellen's remark ended, showed that the almost
signified a vast difference after all.
"I dare say your thoughts often travel homewards, now that you are
lying here?" said Miss Graham, sympathisingly.
"Ah, yes, indeed they do," replied Ellen. "I would give anything now to
see father and mother and all of them."
Feeling sure that it would be a relief to Ellen to talk about her home,
Miss Graham began to ask her questions about her brothers and sisters,
to which Ellen readily responded. Her friend, was much interested in
hearing about little Jerry, and the affliction which had been laid upon
him.
"Does Jesus make people well now, do you think, Miss Graham?" Ellen
asked, after she had told how firmly Jerry believed that the Lord would
some day make him whole.
"His power is the same now as in the days of old, dear, though it is
manifested under different conditions. Your little brother is quite
right in believing that Jesus can restore him to health if it be His
will, and is obeying the teaching of Scripture in praying as he does,
for you know we are told 'in everything by prayer and supplication to
make our requests known unto God.'"
"Oh, how I wish his prayer might be answered," said Ellen. "I pray
every day that he may be made well."
"Then be assured, dear Ellen, that your prayer and his are not unheard,
although the answer be delayed, and may not, perhaps, come exactly in
the way you desire. Our Heavenly Father, in His infinite wisdom and
love, sometimes sees fit to deny our requests; but I trust it will not
be so in this case."
Ellen's face brightened.
"Mother says he is stronger than he was, and suffers less pain," she
remarked. "Oh, I do hope he may get quite well in time."
"Have you seen anything of Mary Nelson, Miss Graham?" she asked, after
a pause. "Do you know how it was she did not come to the class?"
Her teacher looked sad as she answered, "Yes, Ellen; I went to see Mary
yesterday, and I am grieved to say I found her very, very ill."
"Oh, I am so sorry to hear that," said Ellen. "I do hope she will soon
be better, for I am very fond of Mary. I felt so vexed with aunt for
turning her away as she did. I suppose she told you all about it?"
"Yes, she told me about it," replied Miss Graham, quietly. "It was a
trial to her, but it troubles her no longer."
Something in the young lady's manner struck Ellen as strange.
"Mary is very ill, you said, Miss Graham; but you think she will get
better, do you not?" she asked, looking anxiously at her teacher as she
spoke.
Miss Graham did not immediately reply. She was making an effort to
repress the emotion which the question called forth. At length she
answered, in a low tone, "She is better, Ellen. She is released from
all pain and sorrow, and at rest now."
"Oh, Miss Graham, you do not mean that she is dead!" Ellen exclaimed,
in a voice that expressed at once grief and awe.
"We must not grieve for her, Ellen," said her friend. "She was lonely
and sad on earth; now she is sheltered in the Father's home above."
Yet Ellen could not but grieve. The news was so unexpected, and to
her seemed so sad that she was greatly moved as she listened to the
particulars of her friend's illness and death, which Miss Graham
proceeded to give her.
"Directly I saw her, I felt sure that Mary was most seriously ill,"
she said. "And my father, who visited her with me later in the day,
confirmed my worst fears, and could hold out no hope of her recovery.
Yet I little thought when I left her peacefully sleeping last evening,
that I should not see her again in life, for it seemed probable that
she might linger a few days. But early in the morning, when Mary
awoke, the woman who watched beside her observed a great change in her
appearance, and knew that it betokened the approach of death. Death had
for Mary no terror; calm and happy in spirit, she passed joyfully from
earth to the presence of her Saviour."
Ellen's tears fell fast as she listened to these words, and she was
much touched by learning how kindly Mary had thought of her, and the
message she had sent her.
The news of Mary's death, following the thoughts which had alarmed
her on the previous night, produced a solemn impression. Had she been
suddenly called to face death, she could not, like Mary, have met it
calmly and joyfully. But now, through faith in Him who has conquered
the "last enemy," for her also, death had lost its sting, and she could
look forward without fear to whatever the future might bring.
Encouraged by her teacher's kind manner, Ellen told her of the distress
of mind she had experienced, and how the sacred words recalled by
memory had pointed her to the Saviour. Miss Graham's heart rejoiced as
she listened, and the sympathy and encouragement she expressed in the
conversation which ensued, strengthened the young believer's faith and
joy. Ellen felt very thankful when she was assured that her life was
in no danger from the injuries she had received, but that in a week
or two she would be in all probability quite well again, and looked
forward with hope to a life of usefulness and happiness in the service
of Christ.