Chapter IX: "his Great Love."

AS the days passed and no one came to claim the blind child, Rámpál Singh and his daughter felt assured that she had been sent to them by God, and that in caring for this helpless little one, they were indeed serving Him to whom they belonged. They were not long in discovering that Hira was no ordinary child, and blind though she was, it was possible that God had some special work for her to do, for which they were to prepare her.

The little girl was very loath to speak of her past life. But from the little they were able to gather from her, it was very plain that there had been no one who really loved her, and therefore no one who would mourn her loss, and this seemed to justify her remaining where she was.

It was a great day in Hira's experience when she first went to church.

Naturally there was much which she could not understand, but the assurance that they were in God's house, and speaking to Him, made a great impression on her, while the singing thrilled her to the very depths of her heart.

A few days later, Shushila was going to see Mary Dayál and inquire after her sick child, and took Hira with her.

The child had no idea that she was going to the same house where she had been taken by Sukhiya, but Mary knew her at once, though the red sari had been exchanged for a blue one.

A great change was coming over Mary Dayál, the beginning of which had been the question asked by the blind child.

Soon after that, her youngest child had been taken ill, and Shushila, always ready to minister to anyone who was in need, had seized this opportunity of making the acquaintance of one whose sad, weary face had already won her sympathy.

It did not take long for Mary to discover that her new friend was one who knew God and lived in fellowship with Him. Here was a living proof that it is possible to meet with God and walk with Him, even amid the scenes of a most commonplace earthly life. And again and again the question repeated itself in her heart, "How can I get ready to meet God?"

Once more, the blind child was to bring her a message.

Hira's quick ear soon recognised the voice, which she had heard before, and while Shushila was talking, she had quite made up her mind that this must be the same house to which she had come with Sukhiya. What could be more likely? For did she not now belong to Christians, and was soon to become one herself?

As Mary sat quietly by herself, the old scene came back to her, and she almost thought with pity of the poor ignorant child who had come to ask where Jesus Christ lived. Now she knew so much that maybe she could teach the one of whom she had come that day to learn. She gave a start when suddenly Shushila drew her towards her, and said—

"This is my new little sister God sent to me in the storm."

Mary Dayál spoke kindly to the child, but said nothing of the former meeting; perhaps she felt a little ashamed of it. But Hira had nothing to be ashamed of, so she said boldly, "I have been here before. I came to ask about Jesus Christ, for I knew nothing then, but now I know a great deal, and some day I am going to have new eyes and see quite well. I do not mind waiting a little while, now I live with my dear sister Shushila."

Then she paused, thinking someone else would speak, but when no one did, she went on, "You never told me that day whether you had got ready to meet God, but of course you must have done, because you are not an ignorant little girl like I was. I do not think I am quite ready even yet, but I am going to be."

Still, there was no answer. Mary did not know what to say, and Shushila was hoping that the child's words would go home to the heart of the woman for whom she was longing and praying that she might learn to know and love God.

Then suddenly, Mary's lips were unsealed; the longing of her heart could not keep silent any longer, and she said wistfully, "Child, it is easy for you to get ready; it is no fault of yours that you are not so already, for there has been no one to tell you about God. But it is quite different with me. All my life I have known of God, but my mind has been filled with other things."

Hira looked puzzled. Then she said, "But cannot Jesus Christ make people even as bad as you ready? I should think He could, but then I don't know much. Why don't you ask my sister Shushila?"

But Shushila felt that the simplicity of the child's words and faith might give God's message more effectually than she could, so instead of explaining herself, she said, "Hira, what makes you think the Lord Jesus can make us ready? And how does He do it?"

The child hesitated a minute, and then she said—

"Sister, I only know what you tell me: you say that to be ready means to get rid of sin, and that God hates sin so much, and yet loves us so that He sent His only Son all the way from heaven to save us."

Shushila saw that Mary was listening intently to the child's words, so again she asked, "But tell me, Hira, what did the Lord Jesus do to get rid of our sin?"

Softly the blind child answered, "He took them all on Himself, a great, great load, and then He put them right away, but He had to die to do it. He must want us to be ready very much when He tried so hard to put our sin away."

"But," said Mary sadly, "it is the sin in my own heart I want to get rid of; every day I get cross and impatient, and feel ashamed for God to see me."

Hira knew of no remedy for this difficulty.

And Shushila saw it was the time for her to speak, and so she said, "We cannot be ready to meet God as long as we are keeping sin in our hearts, but the Lord Jesus will save us from that too.

"We cannot keep sin out of our hearts, but if we let the Lord Jesus come in, He can keep out the crossness and impatience. I think what we need is to believe more in the 'great love' and the 'great power' of our dear Lord.

"He would do so much more for us if we would only let Him. Shall we kneel down and ask Him now?"

So they knelt together—one who had known of God and His great salvation all her life, but had never received it for herself; another to whom had suddenly come the glorious news of a Divine Saviour, which had been received gladly and fully; and lastly the blind child, into whose darkness had shone the bright rays of the heavenly light, which would go on shining brighter and brighter.

Surely there was still Another present, though unseen, with pierced hands filled with blessings to be poured out on those who sought them.

Then Shushila prayed:

"Dear Lord Jesus, we come to Thee to tell Thee that we want to be made holy as Thou art holy, so holy that we shall be ready to meet God. We cannot get rid of the sins which we have committed, nor of the sins in our own hearts, so we come to Thee, because Thou art our Saviour, who hast died to save us. Wilt Thou come Thyself into our hearts and turn out all which does not please Thee? Amen."

"Amen," said Mary too, and she meant it, for there came to her a vision of what it would be to have a heart at peace and rest in the midst of the many trials and perplexities around her. And she realised, for the first time, that in order to obtain this rest, she must let the Great Rest-Giver come in.

When they were seated again, Hira said, "Sister, won't you sing the hymn about the hill?"

And Shushila sang—

"There is a green hill far away,
Without a city wall,
Where the dear Lord was crucified,
Who died to save us all.

"We may not know, we cannot tell,
What pains He had to bear,
But this we know, it was for us
He hung and suffered there.

"He died that we might be forgiven,
He died to make us good,
That we might go at last to heaven,
Saved by His precious blood.

"There was none other good enough
To pay the price of sin,
He only could unlock the gate
Of heaven, and let us in.

"Oh, dearly, dearly has He loved,
And we must love Him too,
And trust in His redeeming blood,
And try His works to do."

It was a very simple hymn, which even a little child could understand, and yet it told the great facts of redemption, which one of the listeners had heard again and again, but never grasped; it told her once again what she so much needed to know.

"Would you mind singing that last verse once more?" she asked, as Shushila finished the hymn.

Once more the words were sung—

"Oh, dearly, dearly has He loved,
And we must love Him too,
And trust in His redeeming blood,
And try His works to do."

"Thank you," said Mary; her heart was too full to say any more, and Shushila, seeing this, took Hira's hand and led her away.

Then Mary was left alone, except for the sleeping baby on the bedstead near by.

"Oh, dearly, dearly has He loved,
And we must love 'Him too.'"

She knew the words were true, but had she loved this One, who had loved her to the death? Had she tried His works to do?

Her own heart told her plainly, "No." She had thought before of her sins of crossness and impatience, but now she saw plainly that all her life had been wrong, because she had shut out of it the only One who could give her the power to live it. It was true that the Son of God had died for her on the cross, but never once had she thanked Him for all He had suffered for her. It was true that He was alive for evermore, ready to save her to the uttermost, but never till now had she cared to be saved.

It had all been put before her—this mighty loving Saviour, the great salvation which He had given His life to win, the forgiveness and rest which He promised to all who came to Him, and at last, a place in His Father's house, which He Himself was getting ready. But she had been so taken up with her own affairs, her poverty, her husband, and children, the debt which weighed so heavily, that she had had no eyes to see God's great gifts, no heart to care for His unsearchable riches.

She knew now that if her heart had been at rest, if she had had the presence of this Divine Helper and Keeper, she would have been a far better wife and mother, and not so burdened by her own cares and sorrows; which, instead of keeping her away from God, made her need of Him the greater.

She knew now how great that need was; she could no longer live on earth without God, neither was she fit to meet Him and find a dwelling-place with Him; whichever way she looked, it was all dark, unless she could find the true Light.

If she had only understood, it was shining all around her, but as yet her eyes were shut to its brightness.

A DARK NIGHT.

THE parks were almost deserted when Nurse Clarice passed through the gates and slowly made her way to a seat beneath the trees. She had just come from "a case" and was quite tired out.

"Mother," she had said, as she put down her parcel, "don't you tell anyone that I've come home till to-morrow morning! I'll get half an hour's air, and then I'll lay my head on my pillow."

Her mother looked up anxiously from her work, and shook her head at her girl's tired face.

"Oh, well!" said Clarice, in reply to the shake. "You know in such a time of epidemic it can't be helped. I shall get rested by-and-by."

But though she had spoken so hopefully to her mother, when she walked through the twilight streets, all at once she began to think of the many things that worried her, and not least, that thin, tired mother who sat in the little dull house she had just left.

As she sat on the seat in the park, she felt as if life were too full for her to bear.

She so longed for rest, and somehow it so seldom came. She supposed there was nothing for it but for her to conjure up such patience as she could, and go on again.

As she looked up across to the sunset sky, which was rapidly darkening, a little thin line of the new moon was just visible.

With a start of surprise, she smiled to herself as the words came to her remembrance: "Neither shall thy moon withdraw itself: for the Lord shall be thine everlasting light, and thy God thy glory."

Already she was rested, for Clarice knew the secret of finding in God her comfort, and she rose up and made her way back to her mother's home.

"Now for bed!" she said, as she knocked at the shabby door. "And I am even too tired to talk to mother. Poor mother! I believe I've been more than half an hour."

But before she got in, a telegram had come for her, and the mother worked with a more wearied look.

"Come at once to No. —, Park Gate."

"Oh, nurse!" said a young girl, meeting Clarice in the hall when she entered, "I am so glad to see you! My mother is so dreadfully ill! Will you come up at once?"

"If you wish, miss. But would you let me take off my cloak first?"

"Oh, yes! Come into this little room," she said, leading the way. "I have had this got ready for you."

But when they crossed the threshold, the girl's face changed from the forced calm which she had been trying to assume, and she covered it with her hands.

"Is she so bad, miss?" asked Clarice, while she quickly laid aside her bonnet and took her cap from the tray of her little box.

"Yes, and it is all my fault," sobbed the girl hopelessly, yielding to the sympathy in Clarice's eyes. "It was like this. Yesterday—only yesterday—she wished me not to go to a concert with some friends. I had promised, and she was very upset that I would persist in going. I ought not—I know that—she never denies me anything that she thinks for my good; but I would not heed, and ran up to dress in a hurry. She did not approve of the people I was going with, and did not wish me to appear in public with them. And she hurried upstairs to my room to try to persuade me to give it up.

"I was vexed that she should do what I knew was bad for her, and spoke crossly while I threw on my things. And after she had said all she could, she turned away with a very white face. I would not heed, but drove off in the brougham as if I had not a care.

"How I felt when I remembered her look, and that her heart was weak, I cannot tell you. I didn't enjoy myself one bit. When I came home, it was to find her very ill, and to-day they tell me her life is in danger."

"I am ready now, miss," said Clarice, pausing, however, to put her hand gently on the girl's arm. "Miss, there's a Refuge for us in time of trouble, if we will go to Him for it," she said earnestly; "and forgiveness for what's past too."

The girl looked at her almost startled, but then, comprehending, her eyes fell; but she gave the nurse's hand a squeeze.

"Thank you," she murmured, and led the way to a spacious room, where the invalid lay attended by her anxious maid.

Clarice put aside her weariness "till another time," she said to herself. And then came a resting, comforting thought, "'They that wait upon the Lord shall renew their strength.'"

For more than a week, the invalid's life hung in the balance, and her daughter and Clarice, assisted by the maid, waited upon her with tender care.

Every day, when Madge's sad eyes were raised to the nurse's with anxious inquiry, Clarice would say, "Take heart, miss. Remember you can go to God in time of trouble!"

And Madge would go to her room and once again ask that her precious mother might be spared to her.

Then came a day when Clarice could say cheeringly, "I think there's a little improvement, miss; and now we must thank God!"

And so it went on, till the mother was sitting up in her room and needed the busy nurse no longer.

Altogether, it was a happy time to Clarice, for we cannot try to do God's work without a quick reward, even in this present time.

When she was putting her last things into her little box at the end of three weeks, there was a light tap at the door.

"Good-bye, dear nurse," said a sweet voice. "You have done more for me than anyone ever did before! I hope I shall be a 'comfort' to mother now, instead of a self-willed plague! But oh! If God had not forgiven my waywardness, how should I be feeling now?"

"Peter Followed Afar Off."

DO you think, if Peter had kept close to the Lord Jesus, he would have denied Him?

But Peter, though he loved Jesus dearly, followed Him afar off. And there is no surer way of getting into sin and difficulties than forgetting to keep close to Jesus.

Now, listen to the story of how poor Peter, who did love Jesus, came to deny that he ever knew Him.

The Lord knew all about Peter, and how he was apt to trust in his own strength and energy and courage; and just before that dreadful night when all the disciples forsook Him and fled, Jesus had warned Peter that Satan was very anxious to make him do wrong, and if possible to separate him from Himself altogether.

Peter trusted so much in his own strength and courage that he could hardly believe that the warning was needed.

He told the Lord that he was ready to go with Him to prison or to death!

But Jesus warned him again that before the cock should crow the next morning, Peter would have denied that he knew Him.

Then Jesus and His disciples went to the Mount of Olives. And there, Judas, the wicked disciple, betrayed Him to a band of soldiers. And Jesus was taken away by them to the high priest's palace, and all the disciples forsook Him and fled. Jesus knew all that would happen to Him, and He gave Himself up willingly for our sakes; but that does not make it any less wicked of the men who used Him so cruelly.

There seem to have been two of His disciples who, after running away at first, loved Jesus so much that they followed Him to the palace to see what would become of Him.

John, the disciple whom Jesus loved, was known to the high priest, and he seems to have gone right into the palace. And when he saw Peter standing outside, he spoke to the servant and she let Peter enter.

So the night being cold, and Peter having followed "afar off," he turned aside near the door, and seeing a fire lighted in the court round which the servants were gathered, he sat down among them and warmed himself.

Oh, foolish Peter, not to have pressed in close after his Master! Would he have denied Him then, if he had seen those dear and holy eyes upon him? I think not.

But being afar off, and being confident in his own strength, when a servant-maid charged him with belonging to Jesus, he denied Him, saying, "Woman, I know Him not."

And so, as he stood and warmed himself, Peter did, at three different times, tell one and another that he did not know Jesus.

At last the cock crew, and the dear Lord, from the place where He was being examined, turned round and looked upon Peter.

And Peter remembered how Jesus had warned him, and he went out and wept bitterly. Oh, can you not imagine how sorrowful he was?

Perhaps you ask: Was Peter ever forgiven for his sin? Oh yes, indeed. Jesus is full of love and compassion, and when He rose from the grave, He sent a special message to Peter to come and see Him. And afterwards, He talked to him many times, and gave him some of the sweetest directions to serve Him which the Bible contains. Peter was His faithful servant till his life's end.

HIRA'S QUEST.