The lady went away.  I did not ascertain who she was, nor where she came from; I was not much taken with her, nor was she with me.  Hers was evidently a kind of religion which I had not met with before, and did not care to meet with again.

The next day I went for a few hours’ rest and change to the sea-side at Perran, but there was a burden of prayer on my soul.  I could not thank God for that unknown lady, but I could pray for mercy for her.  The impression on my mind was very clear:  I felt that she was not saved.  The day following the burden was heavier still, and I was on my knees praying for her for several hours in the day.  In the evening I was quite in distress.  The next day I was most anxious for her, and could do nothing but pray, even with tears.  This lasted till the following day (Thursday), when I happened to go into the drawing-room for something, and there I observed a strange Bible lying on the table.  I remembered that I had seen that same book in the lady’s hand on Sunday.  I took it up, and saw a name, and on making inquiry of the servants I found out that she came in Mr. —­’s carriage on Sunday.

This was enough.  I wrote a note immediately, and sent the Bible, saying that I was greatly burdened for her soul, and should much like to see her.  She sent me a kind letter in reply, appointing the following Monday for my visit.

On that day I called, and found her very kind, and seemingly thankful for the interest I expressed in her welfare.  I said that she had nothing really to thank me for, for I could not help myself; the burden had been laid upon me.  Then I asked her if she would tell me how she became a child of God.

She did so readily, and told me that once she was in the world, and as fond of dancing and pleasure as others with whom she associated; that in the midst of her gaiety she was called to the death-bed of a cousin, who was just such a lover of pleasure as herself.  Her cousin said, “Oh, Mary, give up the world for my sake.  I am lost!  Oh, Mary, give it up!” Soon she died, poor girl, just awakened enough to see and feel herself hopelessly lost—­a dying worldling.  No one was near to point her to the Saviour, so she departed as she had liked to live, without salvation.  Mary wept at the remembrance of that solemn scene, and said she could never forget it.  “Well,” I said, “and what did you do then?”

She answered firmly, “I knelt down then and there, by the side of the bed where my poor cousin had just died, and I called God to witness that I would give up the world.  I did so; and have never had any inclination to go back into its gaieties and pleasures since.  I began from that time to pray, and read my Bible, and go to church; and I love these things now better than I did the things of the world before.”