They turned back to pass them again, if possible, but they lost sight of them in the little crowd of fashionables enjoying their morning promenade. As they were sauntering along on their return to their hotel, they passed what appeared to be a small place of worship, and on making inquiries, they found it was a Dissenting chapel.
"We ought," Mr. Lewellin remarked, "to be devoutly thankful to Divine Providence for raising up so many of these unobtrusive little sanctuaries—they are the retreats of the gospel, when it is driven out from the Established Church, as is too often the case."
"To me," replied his wife, "any place is a Bethel, if its walls echo to the name of Jesus."
The next day was the Sabbath. They were seated near the door of the chapel, when they saw the two ladies enter whom they had observed on the preceding day; but as they passed on to occupy a pew near to the pulpit, they could not get a sight of the face of either of them. The service was conducted as usual with extreme simplicity—singing, without the aid of any instrumental music, and extemporary prayer, free, however, from monotony or tautology. The sermon was short and impressive, setting forth the grand truths of revelation in a simple, earnest manner, and enforcing them in tones of mild, persuasive, yet commanding eloquence. The text would be considered by many a very commonplace one, yet it is one which embodies the whole theory of Divine truth—"This is a faithful saying, and worthy of all acceptation, that Christ Jesus came into the world to save sinners; of whom I am chief" (1 Tim. i. 15). When the two stranger ladies were walking up the passage, after the close of the service, Mrs. Lewellin contrived to be standing with her pew door partly open, but drew it back as they were in the act of passing. The eye of the invalid lady caught hers; she paused, and exclaimed with emotion—"And is it you, my dear Miss Roscoe?"
"Not Miss Roscoe now," replied Mrs. Lewellin, waving her hand towards her husband; "I have exchanged it for Lewellin. And is it you, my dear Miss Rawlins?"
"Yes, still Miss Rawlins, your old friend. How marvellous that we, who were once two such giddy girls, should meet after so great a lapse of time in a Dissenting chapel!"
"The God of grace often works wonders."
"Always when he saves sinners."
"And does my dear Miss Rawlins feel herself to be a sinner?"
"Yes, and one of the chief. Some others may be more vile, but no one can be more worthless."