Leighton lived.
"Oh, yes Missus! I goes dere berry often for Mass'r Frank."
"And do you know where Mr. Lewis lives?"
"De man what's dying wid consumption?"
"Yes."
"Well den, I knows dat too. Where you go first, Missus?"
"To see Caroline." As we rode on, I asked, "Can you spare the time from your work to wait for me, and let Pauline sit in the carriage? I don't like to be in a hurry when a person is sick."
Good Cæsar's face fairly shone as if freshly anointed; and he replied, "I 'spects so, Missus. Mass'r Frank told me, allus leave ebery ting, when young Missus wants to go. Mass'r Frank sets mighty store by young Missus."
Just then we stopped at the gate; and I was prevented the necessity of replying to the complimentary speech, which, however, being the conviction of his large, honest heart, gave me more pleasure than almost any one, I ever received. He let down the steps and lifted me out as if I were a wax doll. I verily believe he wanted to take me in his arms and carry me to the house, as he would Pauline. She wished to go with me; but he sat in the carriage holding her in his arms, saying, "mammy come back."
I had brought with me two beautiful bouquets, one for each of my sick friends. With Caroline's in my hand, I knocked gently at the door of her apartment, though I could have entered, as the doors were open to admit the fresh air. She turned her head at the sound, and was very much pleased at my early call. She said, she would ring her little bell for her mother; but I told her on no account. Indeed, I was glad, she was alone.
I laid off my bonnet, saying as I did so, "You see, I intend making a long call." I then took a tumbler, and having filled it with water from the pitcher on the table, I put the flowers in it and set them near her.
She smiled, and seemed pleased that I made myself so much at home. I drew a chair to the side of the bed, and taking her thin white hand in mine, asked, "do you feel strong enough to talk with me a little?" She bowed assent.
"Does it not seem hard for one so young to be called to die? Do you feel willing to give up this beautiful world, your mother and friends?"
"Heaven is far more beautiful;" and she added, with a devout expression, "my Saviour is there."
"How long, dear Caroline, have you loved the Saviour?"
With a deep sigh, and a look of profound sorrow, she replied, "Only a few months. Oh, what a hard heart mine has been! – to turn for so long a time from a loving Saviour."
"Can you, without exerting yourself too much, tell me about the change in your feelings?"
"Hasn't the Doctor told you?"
"No, he said perhaps you would do so."
She closed her eyes for a moment, and then gave me the following account. "I lived a life of gayety and pleasure. The world looked bright; not only the things of nature, to which you referred, but gay people, fashion and pleasure in every form. I suppose it will do no harm for me to say now, that I was praised for my personal beauty, and for my graceful manner. But I forgot that "we all do fade as a leaf." Yes, I forgot it, though I had lost two sisters, since my remembrance.
"In the unwearied pursuit of worldly enjoyment, all other things faded from my mind. Yet there were times when conscience sounded an alarm, and the thought that perhaps I too should be cut off, as my sisters had been, in the morning of life, made the blood stagnate in my veins, and my heart cease to beat.
"I was a regular attendant at church, and one of the prominent members of the choir. But I never listened to the sermons. I studiously avoided hearing them; especially when they treated of death, the judgment, and eternity. I have often sat in church, very devout in the eyes of those about me, but engaged in making all my plans for the coming week; and then quieted myself with the thought that I had not sinned half so much, as if I had heard the sermon, and not profited by it. I was often praised for my regular attendance. Alas! He who looks into the heart knows I went to the sanctuary far more to exhibit myself, to hear people say of me, 'how handsome! what a fine voice!' than to worship my Maker, who had bestowed these gifts upon me.
"About a year since, I took a violent cold upon my lungs. I had previously felt languid and unwell, but would not acknowledge it to mother, lest I should be kept from singing school, and places of amusement. Soon after this, the Doctor was called, and never was there a harder or more rebellious heart than mine, when he, in the kindest, most fatherly manner, told me that the disease would probably prove fatal. It was not in the power of man, he added, to effect a cure. He said that possibly I might be better, and live for years; but the disease was upon me and could not be shaken off.
"That was the thought that twinged every nerve in my body. I hated my Creator for making me sick. I hated my physician for telling me of it. I hated my parents and every one who believed it. But oh! I hated myself more than all, when I began to see a little into my own heart.
"I had always been called amiable; and I believed myself to be so. But now I was actually frightened at the tumult of hard and angry thoughts in my awakened soul. In the night, I frequently awoke, trembling with affright; an angry God seemed ready to consume me with his fierce wrath. This state of mind continued with some abatement for several months; and the conflict of my feelings operated injuriously upon my health.
"One day your husband came in, when he could stop longer than usual. He sat down by my bed and tried to talk with me. But I would not speak. I pretended not to hear what he said. Some of his words, however, arrested my attention, and without intending it, I turned my face toward him. He understood the whole of my hardness and guilt. He asked me if I had ever realized how great was the love of Jesus, who left the blessedness of heaven, to suffer and die for us, and who having made atonement, now endures neglect and reproach from the guilty souls, he came to save. It is human, said he, when man offers a favor to his fellow, and is treated with neglect and scorn, to withdraw the offer. But the Divine Lord who endures indifference, ridicule and contempt, still says, 'Come unto me all ye that labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.'
"Oh, those blessed, blessed words! I listened as if I had never heard them before. Was I not weary with wrestling with the Almighty? Oh! was I not heavily laden with sins, more than I could bear? Why may I not come? For the first time, tears of real penitence filled my eyes, and with a subdued voice, I said, 'Will you pray for me?' He did pray, as he had done many times before; but I never heard till then. He wept as he besought God earnestly in my behalf. God in mercy answered.
"When he arose, Christ had taken my burden, and I was at rest. I had never disbelieved the Bible. But now its truths came home to my heart, and I was made free.
"Oh!" she exclaimed, almost in rapture, "the goodness and long suffering of God, to me a poor lost sinner."
The excitement of speaking had carried her beyond her strength; and as she lay with her hands clasped, and eyes closed, she looked so pale, I feared she had fainted. But she presently opened her eyes, while a heavenly smile played around her mouth. I kissed her forehead; but I could not speak.
Her mother, not hearing the bell for some time, looked into the room to see if she were asleep; but perceiving me, she returned to her work.
"Dear Mrs. Lenox," said the sweet girl, "you'll pray with me." I hesitated. "For your husband's sake, please."
I could not deny her, but saying I would return after a moment, I left the room. I had seen from the window that Cæsar had difficulty in keeping the horse quiet on account of the heat and flies. I told him to ride on a short distance
