"What would you have thought," asked Grace, "if he had borne the fetters of all in the prison? What would you have thought if instead of being a captive himself, he had been free, and wealthy, and great, and, for the sake of the unhappy sufferers, had quitted a glorious palace to live in their loathsome dungeon, to wear their chains, to bear their stripes, to suffer and die in their stead that the captives might go free?"
"Such a thing would never be done," cried Ann Rogers.
"Such a thing has been done," exclaimed Grace. There was a murmur of surprise from her hearers; she paused a minute, and went on, clasping her hands as she spoke. "Helpless captives of sin, doomed to wear the heavy chain of God's wrath, trials in this world, endless woe in the next; such are we all by nature—such would we all have remained, had not the Son of God himself deigned to visit our prison. He bore the weight of all our guilt, He endured the punishment which we had deserved; and now, for all who receive His grace, the prison is thrown wide open; victory over sin here, and glory in heaven—such are the blessings bought for His people by the blood of our Lord Jesus Christ."
"Ah!" observed the nurse, in an undertone, "that's how my lady used to speak. Many a time has she told me that there's no friend like the Lord; for there's no one on earth would do for us what He did of His own free will."
Grace felt joyful surprise on finding that there was some one in the ward who looked to the blessed Saviour. An ignorant but simple-minded Christian was near her, ready and glad to be instructed; and the lady reproached herself for having ever thought that her own work for God was ended.
"Well," observed Ann, in her blunt manner, "I went to school when I was young, and I learned a good deal of the Bible there, which I've not all forgotten yet. I know that the Lord died for us, and that, when we've done with the troubles of this life, we shall go and be happy in heaven."
Grace had already heard enough of the bad language, and seen enough of the bad temper of this woman, to fear that Ann was deceiving herself; believing her soul to be safe, although she had never yet repented of sin, or struggled against its power; never yet given her heart to the Lord. Oh! Fearful mistake of multitudes deceived by Satan, who, because salvation's stream flows within their reach, believe that its blessings are theirs, though they never have tasted of its waters. Grace felt that the conscience of Ann was asleep, and she silently prayed that God might awaken it.
"Suppose that the generous officer during his captivity," said Grace, "had called Baird to his side, had entreated him to do something for his sake whenever he should quit the prison; suppose that, when Baird was free, and rich, and happy, he had totally forgotten his friend, had quite neglected his dying wish, and had even done dishonor to his name, what should we think of such conduct?"
"Think," exclaimed the indignant nurse, "we should think it shamefully ungrateful."
"The world's bad enough, I take it," cried Ann; "but there's none of us bad enough to neglect the dying wish of a friend like that."