“I’m afraid it’s too late now,” he said; “but, while we trust the Lord, we must use all the means he puts within our reach. It is possible, of course, that an advertisement in the London papers may meet the eye of the person who has got the bag, supposing, that is to say, that an honest man took it by mistake and has kept it.” So the following advertisement was inserted for a week in the principal London papers:—
Five Pounds Reward.—A small, shabby-looking carpet-bag, was lost or stolen from the Northern Express on its arrival in London at the Saint Pancras Station, at 3 a.m. December 24th last year. Whoever will bring this bag to the clerk at the Left-Luggage Office, Saint Pancras Station, with the contents as he found them, shall receive the above reward.
Not much to the surprise, though still somewhat to the disappointment, of brother and sister, no application was made for the reward by the middle of June, and Bradly was obliged to confess to his sister that, every effort having now been made, without success, to recover the bag, he could do no more.
To his great surprise and relief, Jane heard him with a cheerful smile. “Thomas,” she said, “remember the good old saying, ‘Man’s extremity is God’s opportunity.’ You told me a while since you were convinced God was about to clear up this trouble for us, and that you could trace his guiding hand. Now, somehow or other, my faith, instead of failing, is daily growing stronger. I’m persuaded, though I can’t tell you why, that we shall have full daylight on this matter, and perhaps before long.”
“The Lord be praised for this,” exclaimed her brother. “O my dear Jane, I’ve been wrong to doubt him. Yes, when old Jacob gave up all for lost, and said, ‘All these things are against me,’ it were just the other way; the road was being made plain and straight for him—he was soon to see once more his long-lost Joseph. And so it will be now. You believe it, and I’ll believe it, and we’ll be looking out in faith and trust.”
Chapter Seventeen.
Further Confessions.
Ned Taylor’s misspent life came to an end a few weeks after his confession to Thomas Bradly of his connection with the awful death of Joe Wright. His internal injuries could not be healed; and, after many days and nights of terrible suffering, meekly and patiently borne, he passed away from a world on which he had left no other mark but the scar of a wasted life. Alas that beings to whom God has given faculties, by the right use of which they might glorify him on the earth, should pass away from it, as thousands do, to be remembered only as a warning and a shame! Not but that there was a little fringe of light on the skirts of the dark cloud of Ned Taylor’s career. There was, indeed, no joy nor triumphant confidence at the last, but there was humble and penitent hope.