Though still treated as a child, Mary had become, in feeling and strength of character, a woman. The sense of injustice and ill-treatment, which had grown with her growth, had now reached its height. The down-trodden child, now felt herself a curbed, thwarted, almost persecuted woman, and she was determined to bear her present life no longer.
It was in vain that Daph plead with her to give up her wild purpose; at last all the poor negro’s store of persuasion and warning was exhausted, and in her despair, she said desperately, “Now you Mary jus sit still here, and let Daph tell you somewhat dat do be all solemn true, ebery single word.” Daph had been no inattentive listener to Rose’s frequent reading of the Saviour’s life on earth; and now, in her own simple, graphic language, she sketched the outline of his patient suffering, and painful, unresisted death. She told of the glory of His heaven, where those who humbly follow Him, shall rejoice forever; and the speaker and the listener forgot the dreary place and the midnight hour, as she dwelt in faith on that glorious theme. “Dere’ll be nobody dere, Mary, dat turns de back on de work de Lord gibs em to do!” said Daph, earnestly. “Stay, Mary, and try to bear for de Lord Jesus’ sake! Who knows but your poor ma, her own self, may learn to know bout de heavenly home?”
“Every human heart has its trials, which it can only bear in the strength that God alone can give. Every human heart feels the need of comfort and hope, which can only be found in God’s truth.”
Mary Ray was touched by the simple eloquence of her humble friend, and acted upon by the glorious motives held out to her for new efforts of forbearance and patient endurance.
The world she had known was dreary and dismal enough; but what terrors, trials, and temptations might not await her in the new scenes into which she was hastily rushing. Subdued and softened, she crept back to her bed, and lay down beside the mother whom she had so nearly forsaken. Compared with the wide, lone world without, that poor, low room seemed a kindly and comfortable shelter; and as her mother sighed and groaned in her sleep, Mary felt that natural affection was not yet dead in her heart—that a tie bound her to her on whose bosom she had been nursed.
True prayer was at that moment going up to heaven for the poor, tried, desperate girl. And what faithful petition was ever unnoticed or unanswered!
Mary met Daph’s kind “good morning,” with a shy, averted face, and kept out of her way as much as possible during the day.
When evening came on and the sound of singing was heard in the room of the lodgers. Mary lingered at the open door, and did not resist when Daph noiselessly stepped to her side and drew her to the low bench where she herself was seated.
Mary Ray learned to love that evening hour when she could hear Louise read of the blessed Saviour, and join her voice in the hymns of praise, that went up from the faithful worshippers.
Even this pleasure she was soon obliged to deny herself; for all her time and attention were needed beside the sick bed of her mother.