"Reading the Bible, dear?" said her mother, opening her eyes.
"Oh, mother, mother, I've found the answer."
The plain short direction was read; the mother repeated it over feebly. "Believe on the Lord Jesus Christ, and thou shalt be saved."
"Read about Him, O do," and she seemed to summon soul and body to listen, as Vida, led doubtless by the Spirit, read here and there of Him who died for us. Day after day the reading went on; and while the mother slept, the daughter pondered the wonderful words she had read; preached to her for years, apprehended by her only just now. Her heart was filled with horror and fear at her treatment of such a Saviour; at her daring to number herself among his people; then that heart melted as she read of his love and pity, and casting away her robe of self-righteousness for the first time in her life, she knelt before Him a heart-broken, contrite sinner. He took the burden from her heart and gave her "peace."
While she still bowed at the bedside, praying her whispered prayer that her dear mother might "see Jesus," that mother put out her thin hand and laid it on the golden head, murmuring:
"Dear daughter, I believe in the Lord Jesus Christ; He has forgiven me. It is all peace, peace. Thank Him."
And Vida's clear, low tones of thanksgiving came to her dying mother sweet as the voice of angels, whose song soon burst upon her ear.
How clear an "evidence of Christianity" is this. A soul exchanging pride, haughtiness, and rebellion for humility and submission. Vida, meekly bowing to the storm that burst over her head, and filled with joy and peace that had not been hers in the brightest hour of worldly pleasure. It was not so hard, with this new-born love and trust, to see the grave close over that dear mother. It was gilded with the light of that day when "we shall rise again."
In these hours of bereavement Vida's heart went out with a longing cry for her husband. The love that she had stifled and called dead was there, deeper and purer. Now that she had been brought by this divine mystery unto full sympathy with him, he was the one soul on earth whose love she craved.
Perverse human heart! Here she was, no one to control her actions, possessed of wealth, youth, beauty, freedom to journey to other lands, and revel in the grand and beautiful of nature and art, yet the one only thing she desired, or that would satisfy, was to creep back into the niche she had filled in that other heart, that large, pure soul that she had thrust from her in her wicked folly and blindness. Now she would devote her life to searching for him, if indeed he were still living, and the doubt brought a keen pang; or had he, too, thrust her out and barred the door, so that she might never more enter? Or—worse than death—had he given the place to another, as she bade him do? It was a weary search, with this terrible uncertainty shrouding it. She advertised in mystical language, so none but he could comprehend it. She examined the church records of the denomination with which he was connected, but found no clue there.