“I remember one day we had been to ‘Le Jardin,’ a little spot of green at the foot of the grand Jarasse, framed in with eternal snows, but itself covered with Alpine plants and flowers, and yielding herbage sufficient to tempt the herdsmen to drive their cattle across the Mer de Glace.  Her father and mine had gone a little out of the path, leaving me in charge and Alice to rest.  Seeing some bright flowers of a peculiar species I stopped to gather them, and when I returned Alice was reading.  It was not of Christ’s power, glory and majesty, but of his love, the tenderness he felt for us, of his life, and last of all, of his death.  I had never heard the story before, and it took entire possession of my spirit.  Going down the mountain I was continually asking myself, ’What shall I render to him for all he has suffered on my account? and what for the blessings he has given me?’ Thinking of his buffetings, scoffs and scourging, I could hardly keep the tears.  My father observing this, and supposing that I was weary or had hurt myself, was kinder than usual; but when I told him of the little book and what Alice had told me of the love of Jesus, he grew angry and said that the next time they needed a guide I should stay at home.  ’I have listened once or twice,’ he said, ’because my living depends upon my politeness to strangers; but when it comes to turning the heads of my children it is quite another thing.’

“A few weeks after this Mr. Wyndham left Chamouni for Lausanne.

“‘We shall miss you,’ said Alice; for my father let me go to bid them good-by; ’and that you may have something to remember me by, I am going to give you this little Bible.  You will see that I have marked the passages I want you to study; and you must try to read it every day.’

“It was the very thing that I had wanted, but I could hardly tell her so.  Tears were running over my face, and I had barely time to slip the little book into my pocket when my father came up.  After that I was happier.  I could read for myself, and it was sweet to know that God cared for me.  Many a pleasant hour did I enjoy in the mountain passes, and in telling Annette of the treasure I had found in the Bible.

“My father may have suspected this.  I hardly know; but one day the priest came to talk to me upbraiding me not a little with reading a book that could do me no good, and demanding that I should give it to him.  This I refused to do.  He appealed to my father; invectives and blows followed, and at last my father told me that I should either give up the book or never see him or Annette any more.  It was a struggle, and I came near giving it up.

“When Annette suggested that I should go to Lausanne and see Mr. Wyndham and Alice, I had not thought that I could do this, and without delay started.  I was received very kindly by Mr. Wyndham.  Alice had grown very weak; could not walk, and seldom could ride.  I can not tell you how the days passed, neither of the exertion she made to teach me out of my little book.  Then came a day when her voice was still, and the next the sweet face was hidden from my sight for ever.