m almost through with
it all, and I've no peace or comfort. It's all dark, dark. O what
shall I do?"

"Let me send for Dr. Hines," said Vida.

"O I cannot talk to him. He's a stranger; and I'm so weak. What must
I do, O what?"

Vida had been a member of the same church. But now she sat wrapped in
gloom, feeling powerless to help, yet longing to comfort her dying
mother. In the midst of her sad thoughts as she sat watching, while
gentle slumber had stolen for a moment over the mother, she
remembered the words of a text she had heard her husband preach from,
"What must I do to be saved?" The sermon was all gone.

"If it asks that question in the Bible, it must answer it," she
thought. So finding a Bible, she sat down to search for the old
answer to the old question.

"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. I