I was preaching in Chicago to a hall full of women one Sunday afternoon, and after the meeting was over a lady came to me and said she wanted to talk to me. She said she would accept Christ, and after some conversation she went home. I looked for her for a whole week, but didn't see her until the following Sunday afternoon. She came and sat down right in front of me, and her face had such a sad expression. She seemed to have entered into the misery, instead of the joy, of the Lord. After the meeting was over I went to her and asked her what the trouble was. She said: "Oh, Mr. Moody, this has been the most miserable week of my life." I asked her if there was anyone with whom she had had trouble and whom she could not forgive. She said: "No, not that I know of." "Well, did you tell your friends about having found the Savior?" "Indeed I didn't, I have been all the week trying to keep it from them." "Well," I said, "that is the reason why you have no peace." She wanted to take the crown, but did not want the cross. My friends, you must go by the way of Calvary. If you ever get rest, you must get it at the foot of the cross. "Why," she said, "if I should go home and tell my infidel husband that I had found Christ I don't know what he would do. I think he would turn me out." "Well," I said, "go out." She went away, promising that she would tell him, timid and pale, but she did not want another wretched week. She was bound to have peace. The next night I gave a lecture to men only, and in the hall there were eight thousand men and one solitary woman. When I got through and went into the inquiry meeting, I found this lady with her husband. She introduced him to me (he was a doctor, and a very influential man) and said: "He wants to become a Christian." I took my Bible and told him all about Christ, and he accepted Him. I said to her after it was all over: "It turned out quite differently from what you expected, didn't it?" "Yes," she replied, "I was never so scared in my life. I expected he would do something dreadful, but it has turned out so well." She took God's way, and got rest. I want to say to young ladies, perhaps you have a godless father or mother, a sceptical brother, who is going down through drink, and perhaps there is no one who can reach them but you. How many times a godly, pure young lady has taken the light into some darkened home! Many a home might be lit up with the Gospel if the mothers and daughters would only speak the word. The last time Mr. Sankey and myself were in Edinburgh, there were a father, two sisters and a brother, who used every morning to take the morning paper and pick my sermon to pieces. They were indignant to think that the Edinburgh people should be carried away with such preaching. One day one of the sisters was going by the hall, and she thought she would drop in and see what class of people went there. She happened to take a seat by a godly lady, who said to her: