“For so he giveth his beloved sleep.”  Words how beautiful, and true, and reassuring!  They that expend all their little strength for him, and lay their little substance at his feet, are his beloved.  There is no need to be afraid we are not; we know it; we feel it; we have the witness in ourselves, just as the child, nestling in his father’s arms, knows that he loves and is beloved.  I have heard persons say, “Have you the faith of assurance?” Yes, thank God, I have it, and have had it ever since He was first graciously pleased to call me to Him, and that was long, long ago.  But all have not this faith; just as a man, wanting to go to Bordeaux, may not be assured he is on the road to Bordeaux, and yet he may be on the way thither nevertheless.  Then if you have not the faith of assurance, practise at least the faith of adherence.  That, at least, is in your own power.  Cleave to God exactly as if you were certain of being accepted by Him at last; and thus, fulfilling his own conditions, you will be accepted by Him whether you are assured of it beforehand or not.  “Him that cometh unto me, I will in no wise cast out.”

CHAPTER VII.

La Croissette.

How chill and painful was my awaking!  The soles of my feet were raw with so much walking after they were blistered, and the inflammation irritated my whole frame, which was likewise stiffened with so much beating.  When I opened my eyes, I saw the anxious face of my dear mother, as she examined my wounds, and prepared with light hand to dress them.  Nor would anybody have guessed she herself was terribly burnt, had not one of the children, inadvertently running against her, caused a sudden wince, but without any audible expression of pain.  The thought of what she was enduring with such stoicism, or rather, let me say, with such Christianity, enabled me, better than any stimulant would have done, to endure without murmuring; and she said to me, with strong approval in her kind eyes, “Your wounds tell me, my poor boy, how much you have to bear; therefore there is no need to cry out.  Our light affliction which is but for a moment, worketh for us a far more exceeding and eternal weight of glory.”

“Yes, that is true indeed,” said my father, “and things might have gone much worse with us.”

“Can you say that, my father,” said I, “when you have lost all?”

“I have not lost all,” replied he.  “Before the factory was attacked, I had time to disperse the workmen, dispatch a hasty line to an English correspondent, and secrete certain bills of exchange; so that if we can but find our way to England we shall, indeed, have to begin life again, but with God’s blessing, shall not fare badly.  And with that blessing, my son, we shall not fare badly even here.”