TEN YEARS LATER.
IT was a cold winter's night, more than ten years later, and the
streets of Charmouth presented a dreary appearance, as a drizzling
rain fell on the slushy pavements, and a chill breeze swept round the
corners. It was miserable everywhere, even in the broad thoroughfares
and ample squares, along which persons hurried, eager to get
comfortably housed as speedily as possible; but the rawness of the
night was especially felt on the quays and in the narrow gloomy streets
adjoining them. On such a night, no one cared to be abroad, and it was
little wonder that many, both young and old, should be crowding into
the gorgeously lit gin-palaces, which were so numerous in the lower
part of the town. To many of the dwellers in this neighbourhood, these
taverns offered more attractive shelter than their own dismal homes
afforded.
But in one of the narrow alleys, a warm light was streaming from a
building which had no resemblance to a gin-palace, save that all
comers, no matter how poor and miserable, were welcome to cross its
threshold and seat themselves on the comfortable benches with which the
interior was furnished. A board over the door informed the public that
this was a mission hall, and the words "God is love" bore witness that
the Father had not forgotten His children, nor the Saviour His lost
sheep.
Towards this hall two persons were hastening, whose appearance differed
considerably from that of most of the people whom they met. The
elder of the two was a tall, bright-faced young woman, who, wrapped
in a thick woollen shawl, stepped along bravely, and seemed quite
unconscious of the disagreeable character of the weather. Her companion
was a young man of slight stature and delicate appearance, with a
singularly sweet expression of countenance. He seemed scarcely strong
enough to be abroad on such a night, but he was warmly clad, and a
thick comforter shielded his throat and chest from the raw atmosphere;
and the purpose which had brought him out was one for which he would
have encountered a far greater risk.
As he passed along these dark, noisome streets, his heart was full of
pity for the wretched beings he met.
"Oh, Ellen, to think how little one can do!" he said to his sister.
"All this sin and misery; so many treading the paths of death, and so
few stretch forth a hand to their rescue! Oh, if only I could do more!"
"You do all you can, Jerry, I'm sure," replied Ellen Mansfield. "I feel
quite ashamed of myself when I see how hard you work for others. If
only I could do more! But it seems that sewing is the work God intends
me to do, for I am so fully occupied, that I get little time for
anything else."
"But sewing may be done to His glory," returned Jerry; "and you have an
opportunity of guiding and helping other workwomen. By the bye, what
has become of that Julia Coleman you used to talk to me about?"
Ellen's face grew sorrowful.
"Oh, Jerry, I have seen nothing of Julia for years," she said, "and
I am afraid when I think of her, for she was so wild and wilful, and
seemed so bent upon pleasure. Aunt bore with her heedless ways as long
as ever she could, but she was obliged to dismiss her at last. Then she
found work in a shop, but soon lost her situation through idleness. And
now I don't know what has become of her, but I fear no good. I feel
very unhappy when I think of Julia."
"Let us pray for her, Ellen," said Jerry; "let us ask the Great
Physician to bring her back to Himself, that He may heal her sins."
But now they had gained the hall, where already a good congregation
awaited the arrival of the young preacher. For Jerry's cherished wish
had been realized, and he lived to tell others of the Saviour whom in
his childhood, he had found so gracious.
He and Ellen had made a little home for themselves in Charmouth, and
spent many a happy hour together, though Ellen still passed the greater
part of each day in her aunt's work-room. Some of their brothers and
sisters had also settled in the town, so that they were not separated
from their family. And whenever they could take a holiday, they
hastened back to the dear home, to receive a warm welcome from their
parents and the children, who would soon be children no longer.
Ellen was thinking of the old home as she entered the mission hall.
She was recalling the days when Jerry lay helpless on a bed of pain,
praying to the Saviour to give him health, and she rejoiced to think
how wonderfully his prayer had been answered.
Probably Jerry had similar thoughts, for he chose to speak to the poor,
wretched-looking people who gathered about him of the Great Physician,
and took for his text his favourite words, "As many as touched Him were
made whole." He blessed God for his theme as he looked at the sad faces
turned towards him, and thought of the sickness and sin and misery
which marred the lives of these people. Who could have had the heart
to go into their midst, did he not bear them glad tidings of a mighty
Friend, who "Himself took our infirmities and bare our sicknesses"?
Jerry's words were simple and loving. He told of the Saviour's love to
sinful man; how, when He was upon the earth, He had had compassion on
all who came to Him, healing their maladies, deadly though they might
be; relieving their distress, however great; forgiving their sins,
howsoever numerous. He spoke of the woman who, too fearful to ask for
mercy, had crept behind Jesus in the crowd, and laid her fingers on
the hem of His garment. He described the case of the leper who cried,
"Lord, if Thou wilt, Thou canst make me clean," and received the
gracious answer, "I will, be thou clean." And told the story of the
sinful Magdalene, who dared but to bathe His feet with her tears, yet
was bade to go in peace with sins forgiven.
Then with joy, Jerry proclaimed that the Saviour was still "mighty to
save." His heart had not changed towards man; He still yearned over
them in love, and pitied their sorrows. He told these miserable folk
that Jesus cared for their bodies, that He knew every ache and pain
that they suffered, and could understand their weakness and want. He
encouraged them to bring every malady, physical or spiritual, to the
Great Physician; but with especial earnestness, he pleaded with them
to seek deliverance from the fatal leprosy of sin, which worketh death
both to body and soul.
However great their guilt, Christ could make them clean, for still, as
in the days of old, "as many as touched Him were made whole."
Tears were in Jerry's eyes, as he besought his hearers to come and be
healed, and his earnest words were not spoken in vain. The Holy Spirit
carried them home to many a heart, causing it to cry out for salvation,
and "the power of the Lord was present to heal them."
The hymn with which the service closed was a fit sequel to Jerry's
address, and expressed the desire of many in that assembly. The words
were these:
"Heal us, Immanuel; we are here
Waiting to feel Thy touch;
Deep-wounded souls to Thee repair,
And, Saviour, we are such.
"Our faith is feeble, we confess,
We faintly trust Thy word;
But wilt Thou pity us the less?
Be that far from Thee, Lord.
"Remember him who once applied
With trembling for relief;
'Lord, I believe,' with tears he cried,
'Oh, help my unbelief.'
"She too who touched Thee in the press,
And healing virtue stole,
Was answered, 'Daughter, go in peace;
Thy faith bath made thee whole.'
"Like her, with hopes and fears, we come,
To touch Thee if we may;
Oh! Send us not despairing home,
Send none unhealed away."
Whilst the hymn was being sung, Ellen's eyes were arrested by the
appearance of a girl who sat on the bench before her. She was an
unhappy looking girl, dressed in ragged and tawdry finery.
Ellen had noticed her when she entered, and had fancied that her
features were familiar, but after that moment's glance, she had paid no
further heed to her, till at the close of Jerry's address she saw this
girl hastily cover her face with a corner of her shawl, whilst the sobs
which shook her frame showed that she was in an agony of grief.
Ellen watched her with much concern, and seeing that she continued to
weep, she hastened to her side, when the people began to move from the
hall, and gently asked the cause of her grief.
Her words elicited no response. The girl did not raise her head, but
sobbed more violently than before.
"Do tell me what is troubling you," said Ellen kindly; "I want to help
you if I can."
This time the girl lifted her head, and looked to see who was speaking
to her. She started back with a cry as she caught sight of Ellen, and
as she did so, Ellen recognised Julia Coleman, sadly altered though she
was.
"Oh, Julia, is it you?" she exclaimed, laying her hand affectionately
on Julia's arm. "I have so wished to see you again."
"Don't, Ellen," cried Julia, hastily shaking off her hand. "Don't look
at me—don't speak to me like that! If you knew how bad I am, you would
not touch me."
As she spoke, Julia rose from her place, and turned to make her escape
from the hall. But Ellen held her by the hand, and would not let her go.
"No, no, Julia," she said, "you must not run away from me thus. I want
to be your friend, if you will let me."
"I cannot!" cried Julia. "I am not fit to be your friend. Oh, if you
only knew how bad I am!"
And, overcome with emotion, Julia sank on to the bench, and again began
to sob.
"Dear Julia, if you are a sinner, I am one also," said Ellen. "And the
Saviour who has forgiven my sins, will forgive yours, if you will only
ask Him."
"Oh, Ellen, is it true?" cried Julia, a ray of hope passing over her
countenance. "Is it all true that the preacher said—'As many as touched
Him'? Can I go to Him? Can I touch Him?"
"Yes, it is true, quite true," Ellen assured her. "The Lord Jesus will
receive you lovingly, and heal your sins. But here comes Jerry; he will
tell you better than I can. You did not know that the preacher was my
brother Jerry."
And now Jerry added his words to Ellen's, and encouraged Julia to seek
the Great Physician, who now, as in the days of His flesh, "receiveth
sinners."
It was long before she could believe that, wretched and sin-stained
though she was, Jesus would not disdain to hear her cry. But at last,
faith conquered fear; and bowed beneath the burden of her sin, yet
trusting in the Saviour's love for forgiveness, like the penitent woman
in the house of Simon, she knelt at Jesus' feet, bathing them with her
tears, and was comforted by hearing from His lips the words, "Thy sins
are forgiven thee; go in peace."
She knew that in this life she must ever bear the scar of her sins, but
their smart was healed, and in her case also was the saying true, "As
many as touched Him were made whole."
Butler & Tanner, The Selwood Printing Works, Frome, and London.