She alluded to the fact of being invited by a gentleman connected with her Sunday school to sing for the patients at the "Home for the Sick." In connection with this first visit she used to say,—
"Never did I know such real happiness as when I found myself able to comfort those poor, weary ones, Christ's own sufferers. When one woman, taking my hand, thanked me with moistened eyes for the words of cheer, it was an impulse I could scarcely resist to fall on my knees and thank her for letting me sing for her. 'You have lighted the path to the grave. I'm not afraid now,' gasped one whose wings were plumed for her flight.
"Oh!" exclaimed Marion, clasping her hands to her breast as she recalled the scene. "Who am I, that I should be so blessed?"
During the summer months Mr. Williamson usually travelled with his family or passed the time at some fashionable resort, and it was his earnest wish that Marion should accompany them.
But after a week spent at a gay hotel she told her uncle she found it unendurable; and insisted on going alone, if he could not find an escort for her, to visit her Aunt Asbury. She arrived when the whole family were watching the fading away of a young life. Helen, the oldest daughter, about whom so many hopes had clustered, the light of the home, the pride of parents and friends, had received a summons to leave all that had hitherto been so dear and enter on the unknown,—the infinite. Shuddering with fear, she turned to her parents for help, but they could only weep and wring their hands. At length their clergyman was summoned, and from this hour his visits were frequent. The knitted brow had given way to a calm seriousness, as with trembling lips she said, "I do believe Christ is my Saviour, and that He will lead me safely home."
Her parents, too, if not really submissive, were trying to say, "Thy will be done."
The coming of Marion at such a crisis was indeed a blessing. Her very first words as she sat down by the bedside, after offering and receiving a loving embrace, lit up the face of the dying girl with a ray of Heaven's own light.
"O Helen, how I wish I could change places with you! Going home to Christ, to be with Him forever, to see the dear saints who have gone before, to talk to them of what Jesus has done for you, to sing with them the new song, 'Worthy the Lamb,' to sit down by the beloved John, to see Peter and hear him repeat the story of his grief at the denial of his Lord, to talk with Moses and Joseph and Samuel, to think that you will be forever free from the struggles with sin, that you will be holy as He is holy. Dear Helen, you are indeed to be envied."
"Yes, I can thank God now." Helen's smile was radiant.
Tears were streaming down Mrs. Asbury's cheeks, but wholly unconscious of them, the lady rose and kissed Marion, saying softly,—