that in London."

"Your sins are pardoned," I said, by way of explanation, in order to get
her to comprehend my meaning from her own experience. "Your sins are
pardoned." She got very confused. "You know," I continued, "that it is a
happy day when Jesus takes our sins away." This only made matters worse.
She became greatly embarrassed. While we spoke of London and Gospel
preaching she was free enough; but the moment I made a personal
application of the subject, she was altogether bewildered.

At last, with a kind of forced effort, she said, "I have been a child of
God for eleven years."

"Thank God!" I said, much relieved; "that is what I mean. You have been
converted and pardoned for eleven years. It is all right, then. I did
not intend to perplex you, and am sorry I did not convey ray meaning in
a better manner."

But I could not smooth down her ruffled feathers so easily, and was glad
when the five minutes' bell began ringing to summon us to church. We got
ready, and went. It happened to be a children's service, and our subject
that afternoon was Joseph's reconciliation with his brethren. Three
questions, among others, were asked and dwelt upon.

First, "Was Joseph reconciled with his brethren while they were
self-convicted before him, and condemned themselves as verily guilty
concerning their brother?"--"No."

Second, "Was he reconciled when he feasted with them, and made
merry?"--"No."

Third, "When, then, was he reconciled?"--"When they surrendered
themselves, and all the eleven were prostrate at his feet, like the
eleven sheaves which bowed to Joseph's sheaf in the harvest field; then
he made himself known to them, and forgave them. It is not when a soul
is under condemnation, nor yet when it is happy, that it is saved; but
when it is actually, once for all, surrendered to Christ for salvation,
then it is He makes himself known to them, even as Joseph did to his
brethren."

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