In his early days he had been a ripe scholar, a graduate from one of our best colleges. He had read on many subjects, and among others on the subject of Christianity. He had read in the Old and New Testaments, but his heart remained cold in the midst of sacred fire.
At times in his life he had taken pleasure in railing and ranting against everything sacred. In connection with the holiest Bible teachings he had used the words "bigotry" and "humbuggery" and "cant," till he almost convinced himself that what he said was true. Almost, but not quite. There was still a spark of truth left in him, if only it could be ignited. He had been thinking of these questions when he called on Marion and asked whether she believed in churches, dogmas, etc. Her words, the earnestness, the assurance she expressed that the Gospel of Christ was indeed good news to men, that in order to live a good life we must believe on Him and follow His example, came home to his heart. He could not shake off the fear that he had been mistaken. He lost his sleep, and at last became so nervous and unsettled, so irritable and unmanageable, that his valet insisted he should summon a physician.
This was his state when Marion came to his bedside. After she left he called for pen and ink, and wrote out, as well as he could recall it, every word of her prayer. This he put in his pocketbook and read over many times in a day, never without tears. The gracious Spirit of God was near, watching, waiting to be gracious.
How many times in the course of the few days following he put Marion's character to the severest test! He applied the touchstones of love, charity, and good-will, and found she answered to them all. Yes, her life was a good one, even judged from his standpoint. She did not act from a desire for the praise of men, but from a genuine love to Christ, and a desire, in her humble manner, to do good to those around her. Her note found his heart more tender than it had been for years, more amenable to good influences. He was not likely to refuse any request she might make, even to the half of his kingdom. He sent her word that he would be ready to accompany her at the time appointed.
On Sunday morning the weather was so extremely sultry that Marion doubted the expediency of taking an invalid to a hot, unventilated attic where the air must necessarily be vitiated. Indeed, she was herself oppressed with such debility and general lassitude as disinclined her for any exertion. But Sunday was one of her busiest days. She had a Bible class in the morning with her own servants and those living with Mrs. Mitchell, church at eleven, and her mission school in the afternoon, to which she usually devoted two hours. Then church in the evening. Mr. and Mrs. Mitchell being in the country, she felt that the Bible class was more than ever important to their servants.
It had been her intention to call for Mr. Lambert in her carriage on her way home after the mission school, but, considering the intense heat had just resolved to postpone her visit to Neddy Carter till another Sunday, when she heard the welcome sound of distant thunder.
Before it was time to start for church, the heavy shower had cleared the air and revived her drooping energies.
Neddy Carter's home was only a few blocks from the Five Points mission. Miss Howard's carriage was no novel sight in that vicinity, but, notwithstanding, a group of boys and girls gathered around, gazing with open mouths as the old gentleman alighted —and followed the lady slowly up the steps.
Nothing could have happened more favorably for her project. The room was full, as not only the little ones, but their fathers and mothers, drawn to the room by the singing, had crowded in, filling up even the open door. From an adjoining tenement Miss Howard procured a chair for Mr. Lambert, which she placed in the passage, and an unpainted stool for herself. An opening hymn had been sung, and then the children united in repeating with the young teacher the Lord's Prayer.
Peeping through a space formed by a man's uplifted arm, Mr. Lambert could see the crippled boy seated in his wheeled chair, in front of group of wondering children. His back was toward the door, but the spectator could easily imagine the expression of fervor there would be in his soft brown eyes, the sweet serenity of the brow as he talked to them on the subjects he held most dear.