"It is nearly four years since an English gentleman and his daughter visited Chamouni, and my father was their guide. Mr. Wyndham was a gentleman of refined manners; a Christian man, loving God, and speaking of that love with the earnestness of one who wishes others to love Him also. His daughter Alice, a frail, gentle girl, was one of those beings that seem lent, not given; the last of a large family, and herself not strong. Her father brought her to Lausanne, hoping that pure air and change of scene would restore and invigorate her. I hardly know why, but certain it is that my father was never so much interested in travellers before; while from the first it seemed to me that I could never do enough for the gentle girl, who never failed to inspire me with the love of something beyond what I knew. It was not a tangible idea, and when I tried to reach it I could not. Often in going up the mountain we would stop and rest on some shelf of the rock, while Alice would take her Bible from her pocket, and read the beautiful descriptions of the majesty and glory of the mountain heights, their grandeur and splendor, and then of the great God, creator and ruler of the universe, and kneeling in the cleft of the rock, she would commit herself to him with such a sweet, childlike confidence, I used to weep without knowing what I was weeping for, wishing and longing that I could understand for myself. Whenever she read, and especially when she prayed, my father would listen attentively, taking care when we went home to say nothing about it.
"I remember one day we had been to 'Le Jardin,' a little spot of green at the foot of the grand Jarasse, framed in with eternal snows, but itself covered with Alpine plants and flowers, and yielding herbage sufficient to tempt the herdsmen to drive their cattle across the Mer de Glace. Her father and mine had gone a little out of the path, leaving me in charge and Alice to rest. Seeing some bright flowers of a peculiar species I stopped to gather them, and when I returned Alice was reading. It was not of Christ's power, glory and majesty, but of his love, the tenderness he felt for us, of his life, and last of all, of his death. I had never heard the story before, and it took entire possession of my spirit. Going down the mountain I was continually asking myself, 'What shall I render to him for all he has suffered on my account? and what for the blessings he has given me?' Thinking of his buffetings, scoffs and scourging, I could hardly keep the tears. My father observing this, and supposing that I was weary or had hurt myself, was kinder than usual; but when I told him of the little book and what Alice had told me of the love of Jesus, he grew angry and said that the next time they needed a guide I should stay at home. 'I have listened once or twice,' he said, 'because my living depends upon my politeness to strangers; but when it comes to turning the heads of my children it is quite another thing.'
"A few weeks after this Mr. Wyndham left Chamouni for Lausanne.
"'We shall miss you,' said Alice; for my father let me go to bid them good-by; 'and that you may have something to remember me by, I am going to give you this little Bible. You will see that I have marked the passages I want you to study; and you must try to read it every day.'
"It was the very thing that I had wanted, but I could hardly tell her so. Tears were running over my face, and I had barely time to slip the little book into my pocket when my father came up. After that I was happier. I could read for myself, and it was sweet to know that God cared for me. Many a pleasant hour did I enjoy in the mountain passes, and in telling Annette of the treasure I had found in the Bible.
"My father may have suspected this. I hardly know; but one day the priest came to talk to me upbraiding me not a little with reading a book that could do me no good, and demanding that I should give it to him. This I refused to do. He appealed to my father; invectives and blows followed, and at last my father told me that I should either give up the book or never see him or Annette any more. It was a struggle, and I came near giving it up.
"When Annette suggested that I should go to Lausanne and see Mr. Wyndham and Alice, I had not thought that I could do this, and without delay started. I was received very kindly by Mr. Wyndham. Alice had grown very weak; could not walk, and seldom could ride. I can not tell you how the days passed, neither of the exertion she made to teach me out of my little book. Then came a day when her voice was still, and the next the sweet face was hidden from my sight for ever.
"Soon after this Mr. Wyndham left for England, but before he left he had a long talk with me, and of my plans and hopes for the future. The result was that I was placed in school, of which there are several, in Lausanne, and began to study with reference to being myself a teacher of his blessed word. My little Bible I sent to Annette; but my father would not let me come home. For the last year he has been failing; three months since he took to his bed, and then Annette prevailed upon him to let me come and wait upon him. I found him greatly changed. From the first he let me read the Book, as he calls it, and of late I feel that he loves Jesus, and trusts him for the future. Living upon his labor, it troubles him that he can do nothing; and this was why I was so anxious to go with you yesterday; he likes to think of me as a guide."
"And I trust you will be a guide," I said, as we left the table and entered the sick-room, "a guide to lead souls to Christ. What a blessed privilege!"