TURNED FROM HOME.
Mary Bosanquet's determination to lay aside the ordinary pleasures of
girlhood, and live a life of waiting upon God for the revelation of
His will, came just two months after John Fletcher's ordination.
Little enough happened to her for a couple of years, save that she
succeeded in increasingly impressing those around her that it was
useless to invite her into paths of worldliness and frivolity. When a
girl of nineteen she stayed for seven weeks in Bristol, renewing there
her friendship with Miss Sarah Ryan--to whom Fletcher wrote some of
his famous letters--through whom, and through Mrs. Crosby, Mary was
introduced to her future husband.
When she came of age Mary Bosanquet found herself mistress of her
personal fortune, and more strongly than ever was she assured that she
might do better work for God if she left her own home. Always afraid
of moving before the Guiding Pillar, however, she feared exceedingly
to take this step unless the express command were laid upon her.
One day her father asked for her solemn promise that she would not try
to persuade her brothers to follow Christ.
"I am afraid I cannot promise that, father," she replied.
"Then you will force me to put you out of the house," was his
rejoinder.
In preparation for whatever might follow, Mary took a lodging, and
waited until she should be told to go, which quickly happened.
It was a pathetic departure. Before dinner a message reached her by a
servant that she had better go to her lodging that night. During the
meal no word was said, and Mary's heart was wrung by sorrowful
questionings. "How shall I go, if they say no more to me? How shall I
bear it, if they never invite me to see them again?"
Dinner being at last concluded, and the carriage announced, Mrs.
Bosanquet swept out into the hall, remarking casually to Mary as she
passed by :--
"If you will, the coach, when it has set us down, may carry you home
to your lodgings."
"And we shall be glad to see you to dinner on Sunday," added her
father.
Mary choked and could not reply, but she quickly recovered
sufficiently to order her trunk downstairs, and, when cloaked and
hooded, she passed down the staircase, she found all the servants
assembled in a row to bid her farewell with tears.
The two rooms she had taken were fireless, dark, and unfurnished. A
table and candlestick were quickly borrowed, and Mary sat down upon a
broad window-seat to ponder what was to her a strange situation.
By the time her maid arrived, and invited her to a fire, and a
sumptuous supper of bread, rank salt butter, and water, God had so
comforted her and assured her of His favour and presence that she was
filled with thankfulness and peace; the empty room and sparse, candle-
lit meal seemed to her part of "a little heaven."
No beds could be put up at so late an hour; blinds and curtains were
not in evidence. Mary Bosanquet lay that night upon the bare floor,
and the pure, clear moonlight shone coldly upon her as she lay, but
the fire of Divine love burned warm within her heart; she communed
with her God in utter content.