I was vexed with him for saying that, and attempted to dispute the point; but he was calm and confident; while I, on the other hand, was uneasy, and trying to justify myself.
In the course of our conversation, he said, "You do not seem to know the difference between the natural conscience and the work of the Spirit." Here he had me, for I only knew of one thing, and he referred to two. However, we battled on till nearly two o'clock in the morning, and then he showed me to my bed-room. Pointing to the bed, he said (in a voice full of meaning), "Ah! a very holy man of God died there a short time since." This did not add to my comfort or induce sleep, for I was already much disturbed by the conversation we had had, and did not enjoy the idea of going to bed and sleeping where one had so lately died—even though he was a holy man. Resolving to sit up, I looked round the room, and seeing some books on the table, took up one, which happened to be Hare's "Mission of the Comforter." Almost the first page I glanced at told the difference between the natural conscience and the work of the Spirit. This I read and re-read till I understood its meaning.
The next morning as soon as breakfast was finished, I resumed the conversation of the previous night with the additional light I had gained on the subject. We had not talked long before Mr. Aitken said, "Ah, my brother, you have changed your ground since last night!"
I at once confessed that I had been reading Hare's book, which he did not know was in my room, nor even in the house. He was curious to see it.
He then challenged me on another point, and said, "Have you peace with God?" I answered, without hesitation, "Yes,"—-for, for eight years or more I had regarded God as my Friend. Mr. A. went on to ask me, "How did you get peace?" "Oh," I said, "I have it continually. I get it at the Daily Service, I get it through prayer and reading, and especially at the Holy Communion. I have made it a rule to carry my sins there every Sunday, and have often come away from that holy sacrament feeling as happy and free as a bird." My friend looked surprised, but did not dispute this part of my experience. He contented himself by asking me quietly, "And how long does your peace last?" This question made me think. I said, "I suppose, not a week, for I have to do the same thing every Sunday." He replied, "I thought so." Opening the Bible, he found the fourth chapter of St. John, and read, "'Whosoever drinketh of this water shall thirst again.' The woman of Samaria drew water for herself at Jacob's well, and quenched her thirst; but she had to come again and again to the same well. She had no idea of getting water, except by drawing, any more than you have of getting peace excepting through the means you use. The Lord said to her, 'If thou knewest the gift of God, and who it is that saith to thee, Give me to drink; thou wouldest have asked of Him, and He would have given thee living water,' which would be 'a well of water springing up into everlasting life'" (John 4:10-14). My friend pointed out the difference between getting water by drawing from a well, and having a living well within you springing up.
I said, "I never heard of such a thing."
"I suppose not," he answered.
"Have you this living water?" I continued.
"Yes, thank God, I have had it for the last thirty years."
"How did you get it?"