It seemed to him of the greatest
import, though it amounted only to this, that when he was in London,
he used to lodge at the house of an old Scotchwoman of the name of
Macallister, who lived in Paradise Gardens, somewhere between
Bethnal Green and Spitalfields. Whether he had been in London
lately, she did not know; but if anybody could tell him where he
was, it would be Mrs. Macallister.
His heart filled with gratitude and hope and the surging desire for
the renewal of his London labours. But he could not leave the dying
woman till she was beyond the reach of his comfort: he was her
keeper now. And 'he that believeth shall not make haste.' Labour
without perturbation, readiness without hurry, no haste, and no
hesitation, was the divine law of his activity.
Shargar's mother breathed her last holding his hand. They were
alone. He kneeled by the bed, and prayed to God, saying,
'Father, this woman is in thy hands. Take thou care of her, as thou
hast taken care of her hitherto. Let the light go up in her soul,
that she may love and trust thee, O light, O gladness. I thank thee
that thou hast blessed me with this ministration. Now lead me to my
father. Thine is the kingdom, and the power, and the glory, for
ever and ever. Amen.'
He rose and went to his grandmother and told her all. She put her
arms round his neck, and kissed him, and said,
'God bless ye, my bonny lad. And he will bless ye. He will; he
will.
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