During 1873, James Gilmour gave much thought to the natural and important question of marriage. Given his unusual character and ways, it was perhaps expected that he would approach this matter differently than most.

The Rev. S. E. Meech had married Miss Prankard of London in 1872. After Mr. Edkins returned to England in May 1873, Gilmour moved in with the Meeches. There, he often saw a portrait of Mrs. Meech’s sister and frequently heard her mentioned in conversation. Toward the end of 1873, he confided in Mrs. Meech and asked for permission to correspond with her sister. The following letters, full of Gilmour’s characteristic honesty and faith, reveal what happened next:

Peking, January 14, 1874

My dear Parents,

I have written and proposed to a girl in England. It is true I have never seen her and know very little about her, but what I do know is good. She is the sister of Mrs. Meech and lives with her mother in London. Her mother runs a school to support herself and her daughter.

One possible difficulty is that her mother may not be willing to part with her, as she is likely essential to the school. I do not know for certain, so I have written, made my offer, and left the decision to them. If she cannot come, no harm is done. If she is able to come, then my hope is fulfilled.

If the young lady says ‘yes,’ she or her family will no doubt write to you, as I have asked them to do. You may think I am rash in writing to a girl I have never seen. If you feel that way, I must admit I have something of the same feeling. But what else am I to do?

Despite this, I am at peace. I have given the matter my best thought and placed it entirely in God’s hands, asking Him—if it is best—to bring her, and if not, to keep her away. He can manage everything perfectly.

By some mischance, Gilmour’s letter was delayed. As a result, one day in March 1874, his family was startled to receive a letter from a complete stranger in London. It contained an unexpected announcement:

Your son, Mr. Gilmour of Peking, has asked my daughter to write to you, informing you of her decision to join him as his wife. She has asked me to write on her behalf and would be pleased to hear from you whenever you feel inclined to respond.

The warm exchanges that followed soon reassured Gilmour’s family. And as anyone who met Emily Prankard soon realized, despite the unusual circumstances, this was indeed a marriage ordained by God. Both James and Emily had sought His blessing and guidance, and His hand was clearly upon them.

After only a brief parting in this world, they are now reunited in the fullness of joy and perfect knowledge in the life beyond.

No time was wasted in arranging for Miss Prankard’s journey to China. In a letter to his mother, dated October 2, 1874, Gilmour wrote:

You have seen Miss Prankard, but you have not told me what you think of her. She was delighted with her visit to Scotland and with you all. You will be glad to hear that I have received some wonderful letters from her.

I wrote to her, and she has responded with complete openness about her spiritual hopes and condition. Though we have never seen each other, we know more of each other’s inner life and soul than most couples do, even after a long courtship.

It is truly a joy to be able to write to one another with such freedom, and I tell you this because I know you will be glad to hear it. I knew she was a devoted Christian—otherwise, I would never have asked her to come and be a missionary’s wife. But she has proven to be even more than I had hoped, and I have no fears about how we will get along together.

In the autumn of 1874, Miss Prankard set sail for China. In a letter dated December 13, 1874, Gilmour wrote about the conclusion of his unusual but deeply fulfilling courtship:

I was married last week—Tuesday, December 8!

Mrs. Meech’s sister is now Mrs. Gilmour. We had never seen each other until a week before the wedding. My friends here were alarmed and scolded me for being rash and thoughtless. ‘What if you don’t like each other?’ they asked. ‘It’s for life!’ As if I had not considered all of this long ago!

The time came for her arrival, but the ship was delayed. Mr. Meech and I traveled to Tientsin and waited there for two weeks without news. Finally, on the evening of Sunday, November 29, a distant steamer whistle was heard.

It was Mr. Meech’s turn to preach, but after the sermon, we walked along the river to see what we could find. Soon, a light appeared around the last bend—then a green light, then a red one, then all three lights of a steamer! We listened closely. It was the high-pressure engine of the steam launch used to lighten the deep-sea steamers before they entered the narrow river.

Fifteen minutes later, the launch reached the landing stage. A friend went aboard and returned with news—Miss Prankard was on the Taku, which was still outside the bar, waiting for the tide to bring her in. The lighter vessel was scheduled to unload and depart at 5 A.M., so Meech and I boarded it.

By 8 A.M., we met the Taku coming upriver. When she passed alongside, we saw Miss Prankard on board, but we couldn’t reach her. The tide was favorable for sailing, and they refused to stop the steamer for even a minute. We finally boarded at Tientsin around 11 A.M.

The next day, we set out for Peking, arriving on Thursday. The following Tuesday, we were married.

Our honeymoon is now almost over—I am only to have a week of it! I plan to set out with Meech on a mission trip to the countryside next Tuesday.

Miss Prankard’s first sight of her future husband was not quite what she might have expected. Mr. Meech later described the scene on the river:

The morning was cold, and Gilmour was wrapped in an old overcoat that had seen many harsh winters in Siberia. A woolen scarf was wound tightly around his neck—he was far more concerned with warmth than with appearance. As we followed the steamer back to Tientsin, those on board mistook Gilmour for the ship’s engineer!

Two letters shed further light on this event. The first was written to one of Gilmour’s closest Scottish friends:

London Mission, Peking, January 31, 1875

Dear friend,

Your long-awaited letter, dated May 12, 1873, and August 21, 1874, finally reached me on January 9, 1875. Many thanks for it, but in the future, I suggest you send me half the length in half the time—if you truly cannot write more often.

As I was married on December 8, 1874, to Mrs. Meech’s sister, that lady—now Mrs. Gilmour—had the great pleasure of reading your repeated and emphatic warnings against my marrying her. Unfortunately for you, your warning came too late! Had you posted your letter on May 12, 1873, it might have reached me in time, as our first letter of acquaintance was written in January 1874.

If nothing else persuades you to write sooner, perhaps the thought that you might have saved me from the fate of having an English wife will motivate you to post your letters promptly—even if they are not quite as long and detailed!

About my wife—since I want you to know her, let me introduce you. She is a lively, cheerful girl, perhaps even more of a Christian and missionary than I am.

I don’t know if I ever told you how it all happened. I first proposed to a Scottish girl, but I was too late. After that, I placed the whole matter—this search for a wife—entirely in God’s hands, asking Him to find me a good one. Not long after, I found myself in a position to propose to Miss Prankard, with every reasonable assurance that she was the right kind of woman, and with some hope that she would not reject the offer.

We had never met, nor had we ever corresponded. But she had heard much about me from people in England who knew me well, and I had heard a great deal about her. I had even read some of her letters to her sister and brother-in-law.

The first letter I ever wrote to her was a proposal. The first letter she ever wrote to me was her acceptance—romantic enough, don’t you think?

I proposed in January, went up to Mongolia in the spring, rode about on my camels until July, and then came down to Kalgan—only to find that I was an accepted man! I traveled to Tientsin to meet her; we arrived here on a Thursday and were married the following Tuesday morning.

We had a quiet week together before I left for a nine-day mission trip to the countryside, returning just two days before Christmas. We have been at home ever since. Such is the romance of a matter-of-fact man.

You can see that the entire thing was undertaken purely on the principle of faith. And given its success, I am more convinced than ever of the wisdom of that approach. Without exaggeration, I am far happier than I ever dared to imagine, even in my daydreams.

Not only does my wife please me, but she has won the highest praise from nearly everyone she has met—both in Scotland and China. My parents, of course, were quite startled last year when they suddenly received a letter from an English lady they had never even heard of, informing my parents that her daughter had decided to become my wife. Didn’t that stir up the old folks! They had known nothing about it—my own letter, posted at the same time as my proposal, had been delayed in London.

But when she went to Scotland and spent two weeks with them, she made such an impression that they wrote to tell me, “Even if you had searched the whole country for years, you could not have made a better choice.”

Perhaps I am tiring you with all this, but I want you to know everything—and to assure you that you have no reason to be shy of me or my English wife. She is a good lass, far better than me, and just as capable as any Scottish girl would have been.

She had great fun reading your warning about English wives! She’s a cheerful, easy-going sort who doesn’t take offense—but if she ever meets you, I suspect she will give you a bit of a wake-up call!