Mrs. Cheriton had not lived nineteen years with her mother without understanding that this dearest friend was of late governed by different principles from those which controlled her in earlier life. She acknowledged in this dark hour that when all other help had failed, the poor widow, bearing alone her heavy burden of grief and self-reproach, had found comfort and solace in the truths contained in the sacred book hitherto so little prized. God was no longer to her an angry judge, but a tender, loving father, whose heart yearned over her. Jesus Christ was her sympathizing Saviour, who had voluntarily come to earth, suffered poverty, temptation, and ignominy, that he might know how to succor his children in like sorrow. Many, many times Mrs. Douglass had endeavored to impress these blessed teachings on her daughter; but they only seemed to her like idle tales. Of late, since her acquaintance with Marion Howard, she had been urged to trust in the kind care of One whose eye of love was always watching her; but these faithful words, instead of drawing her heart toward the friend who uttered them, had led her to treat Marion with cold contempt.
As is frequently the case with persons in the near prospect of death, the events of the past life flash like lightning through the mind, so in Juliette's agony, circumstances connected with her childhood, youth, and brief married life rushed to her memory with a force and vividness which well nigh overwhelmed her. As she afterward described it, "I seemed to be living my life over again: I was wooed and won. I tasted the purest joy of all when my child was placed in my arms. I sinned and was punished. I went on sinning and repenting. I went headlong into the arms of a destroyer, when a hand was stretched out and saved me. I can never make myself believe that all this occurred in only five hours."
At last the physician, who had for some time been dozing in his chair, rose quietly, and, coming toward the rigid figure, said, encouragingly,—
"He is sleeping quietly now. Be careful that he does not get a chill. I will be in again at nine."
She gazed in his face, scarcely understanding his words, looking so bewildered that he mechanically placed his fingers on her pulse. Her hand was like ice.
"He, your child, is better. I am quite hopeful now. You have controlled yourself admirably."
"Do you mean that he will not die? That God will not punish me by taking him away?"
"Yes, my poor child. I mean that I hope God in mercy intends to spare him to you. He is given to you afresh, to train up to a good and useful life."
What a change came over that young face, on which despair had been stamped! The hard eyes softened, the lips quivered, the crimson tide came rushing back, painting cheeks and brow; the whole countenance grew luminous, as with quickened breath the child-mother clasped her hands, exclaiming,—
"Oh, how I will love Him! He is so good, and I have been so bad."