"Yes—because——?"
"I love Him, Christ, my Lord and my God," she answered softly.
Mrs. Medhurst's sobs had ceased now, and except for the ticking of the clock, there was silence in the room. Then:
"I wish I could say those words; a practical faith such as yours must mean the peace of God which passeth understanding, of which I have heard, but never experienced," Mr. Medhurst said sadly.
"Those who seek always find, if they seek with all their hearts—and oh, Mr. Medhurst, in all the big troubles of life, as well as the small ones, that peace is always a reality to us when we trust; we only get faithless when we look down at the difficulties, instead of up to Him Who never fails. Good night," she finished—a little hurriedly, almost afraid she had said too much. Turning swiftly, she vanished into the darkened passage, and went to her room. She was a good deal shaken by all she had just been through, and a feeling of exhaustion followed the excitement. She understood now the nature of Mrs. Medhurst's failing, and the loyalty of her husband who had borne the burden of his wife's disgrace. The reason for their life's seclusion in this quiet little place was fully explained. Society, and his old friends, had broken with the man who had endured imprisonment, and the wretched woman who had been pitied, and yet shunned by the set who once were proud to associate with her, had willingly left them to drift into obscurity.
Fortunately the children were young in those first days of trouble, and their father was most anxious the shadow should not fall upon them if it could be prevented. His son he intended sending abroad when he was older, and his little daughter might be guarded for many years in her own home. Her education had always been a difficulty, for her mother's lassitude and spoiling had nearly wrecked the charm of a naturally generous and affectionate disposition. Father and son had always been antagonistic. The strain and sorrow of Mr. Medhurst's life had caused an irritability at times which had dulled any sympathy and understanding he might have felt for Robert.
To this strange household Margaret Woodford believed she had been sent upon a work of ministry for the King Whom she acknowledged as the Overlord of her life.
As she sat now in her room, thinking of all the difficulties of her present situation, an intense longing to be faithful arose in her heart. It was a wonderful thought, that for service she had been selected to serve just here—chosen—and called—it was almost as if the King had said, speaking of this particular post: "Who will go for us?" and she had answered, "Here am I, send me."
For a moment she sank upon her knees, and an unspoken prayer arose to the Throne of God: "Give me wisdom and strength by the power of Thy Holy Spirit to be faithful." She knew the way might yet be difficult, and there would no doubt be many future trials to bear, but with a quick transition of thought the hymn lines, so simple in their direction to God's people, flashed into her mind:
"Peace, perfect peace, by thronging duties pressed?
To do the will of Jesus, this is rest."