Astra

  Yet so sacred had been the scene through which Astra had just passed that she did not at first take in that this hostility was directed toward herself.

  The doctor had suddenly arrived, with a warning hand flung up for silence, but the woman paid no attention and boomed on.

  “I go into the diner to get my dinner and leave my husband in his seat because he said he didn’t want any dinner! Just stubbornness that he wouldn’t eat! And then I come back and find him gone! And when I at last track him down, I find him in bed with a whole mob around him! And this designing young woman—who is she?—whining around and putting over some sort of pious act. Who is she?—I demand to know!”

  But the last of the question was smothered by the doctor’s hand firmly laid across the woman’s lips as he and the nurse grasped her arms and forced her out of the room into the corridor, closing the door sharply behind her.

  After that things were a bit confused. The sick man’s eyes were closed. He looked like death. Had he heard that awful voice maligning him?

  Astra stood at one side, the papers with the dictation grasped in her hands, her frightened eyes on the sick man. Was he living yet?

  Then the door opened and the young man beckoned her to come out. The woman seemed to have disappeared for the moment.

  The young man drew Astra over to an unoccupied section and made her sit down.

  “Shall I take these papers for the time being?” he said, and she surrendered them thankfully. He slipped them inside his briefcase.

  “Mr. Faber seemed to be anxious that no one else came in on this side. He told me that before I came after you,” he said in explanation of his care.

  “Now will you sit here for a few minutes until I can scout around and find out the possibilities? I suppose these telegrams ought to get off at once. There’s a Western Union man on board. Just stay here and I’ll see what can be done. I won’t be long.”

  He hurried away, and Astra sat there staring at the great white flakes that were coming down like miniature blankets lapping over each other on the windowpanes. The warm train seemed so protected from the darkness that had come down while she had been busy. There seemed a great quiet sadness all about her as she sat thinking of the little tragedy. She had a strange feeling that God had been in that stateroom while she had been praying for the dying man, and He had heard her prayer. She seemed still to hear the echo of that whispered “Amen!” as if it were the heartfelt assent of the man’s passing soul. And it seemed a strange thing that it had been so arranged that she should have been the one to answer that cry from a dying man.

  She wondered, was he gone yet? It surely had seemed like the end. Her own sorrowful experience when her father died had taught her to know the signs. And it had really seemed to give him relief to leave those messages behind. She was glad she had been able to help.

  Then she heard a door open sharply at the extreme other end of the car, and footsteps, silken stirrings, sounded down the corridor. Suddenly there was the smart lady coming stormily down toward her, battle in her eyes.

  She sighted Astra almost at once and fixed her cold blue gaze upon her, coming on with evident intention to do her worst.

  Now she was upon her, standing in front of her with the attitude of an officer of the law come to bring her to justice.

  “Who are you?” she demanded, and her voice rose again. “And what were you doing in my husband’s stateroom, you shameless creature, you?”

  Chapter 2

  Astra looked at the woman with surprise, growing into dawning comprehension, and then a quick glow of interest.

  “Oh,” she said pleasantly, “you didn’t understand what happened, did you? I didn’t go in there of my own accord. I was asked to go.”

  “Indeed!” said the woman arrogantly. “Who could possibly have asked you to go? Who had a right to do so? Who are you, anyway?”

  “Oh,” said Astra with a quiet calm upon her and the hint of a smile through the gravity of her expression, “I am just a stenographer they asked to come and take some dictation for a man who was dying.”

  “Nonsense!” said the woman impatiently. “Dying! He’s not dying! He gets these spells. He’ll come out of it. He’s most likely out of it now. And who, may I ask, presumed to take my husband into a stateroom and bring a strange doctor and a strange nurse and stenographer and make such a to-do about it all? Why did anybody think he was sick?”

  “I really don’t know, madam,” said Astra coldly. “I was asked to come, and I came.”

  “Well, really! This is very mysterious! Who presumed to ask you?"

  “The young man who was in there when you came. I don’t know who he is. He came into the other car where I was sitting and called out to know if there was a stenographer there who would come quickly and take some dictation.”

  “Well, of all the absurd ideas!” said the woman, snapping her eyes at Astra. “Who is this young man? Some friend of yours?”

  “No,” said Astra, and her own voice was somewhat haughty now. “I never saw him before.”

  “What is his name?”

  “I don’t know, madam. You’ll have to ask him.”

  “Well, it shows what kind of girl you are, going off with a strange young man to take dictation from a stranger! Well, what important dictation did you take? Let me see the papers! I’ll take charge of them now.”

  “I haven’t the papers, madam.”

  “Where are they?”

  “I don’t know. I presume they have been taken care of as your husband directed.”

  “Well, what did the papers say?” demanded the woman.

  Astra looked at her with wide, surprised eyes.

  “Why, that wouldn’t be my business to tell,” she said. “A stenographer is only supposed to do her work and then forget about it.”

  “Oh, really? And you have the impudence to say that to the wife of the man whose dictation you took?”

  Then Astra saw the young man coming toward her, and she looked up with relief.

  “I’m sorry,” she said quietly to the irate woman. “It was a matter of business, you know, sales he had completed on his trip, I think. I don’t suppose it would interest you. And I have not intended to be impudent. A stenographer is not expected to give attention and remember the matters which she transcribes, she is only a machine while she is at work. At least, that is what I have been taught.”

  Then she rose and stood ready as the young man reached her side, and the woman turned and started at the young man, giving Astra opportunity to escape toward the door.

  The young man soon followed her.

  “I thought,” he said as he reached Astra’s side and opened the door for her, “that perhaps we could go into the diner and get some dinner together. There we could have an opportunity to make a few plans about those papers. That will give us comparative freedom from interruption. I don’t fancy having that woman interfering, do you? She may be his wife, but she has no idea what happened, and from what he told me, I don’t think he wanted her to have. He had evidently seen his son and had an interview with him. Now, you haven’t had your dinner yet, have you? Will you go with me?”

  He led her into the dining car and chose a table where he could watch anyone entering at the other end and where they would be far enough from other diners so that their conversation would not be heard. After the preliminaries of ordering were over, he leaned across the table and began to talk quietly.

  “Now,” he said with a pleasant, businesslike smile, “my name is Charles Cameron. My business office happens to be next door to the office of G. J. Faber, our sick man. I know him personally only slightly. We meet occasionally. By reputation I know him well. He is highly respected.”

  Cameron studied the face of the girl before him as she watched him while he talked. He decided she was taking in every word he said and comparing it with her impression of the sick man.

  The waiter arrived just then with their order, and there was no more conversation for a few m
inutes till he was gone.

  “Mr. Faber got on the train at Chicago,” went on the young man, “with his wife and a lot of luggage. He had the section opposite mine. He looked up after he was settled and nodded casually to me, as he always does when we meet. After that, we didn’t pay any further attention to one another. His wife was occupying the center of the stage and there was no opportunity. I was reading. I dimly realized that they were having some kind of a discussion, though she was doing most of the talking, and presently she went off in the direction of the diner. That seems a long time ago to me now. But I fancy she took her time. And then, too, she would be one who demanded a good deal of service in a diner, which explains her long absence during our most strenuous time.”

  The waiter came back to refill their water glasses, and when he left, Cameron went on.

  “The wife hadn’t been gone but a very few minutes before Mr. Faber reached over and touched me on the arm. He said he was sick, would I help him? He wanted a doctor and a stenographer. That is how it all began. The porter said there was a rather famous doctor on board, and he brought the nurse. Now I ought to tell you that I’m afraid there is a little more involved in this than just copying those notes. We’ve probably got to appear before a notary and swear to all this, you know. That is, if he dies, and the doctor seems to think there is no hope for him. But I thought I had better prepare you for the next act. Are you game?”

  He watched her somewhat anxiously, and she suddenly smiled.

  “Of course,” she said gently. “Would it be likely to take long? But that wouldn’t matter. I was planning to stay in the city for a few days at least. And my time is not important just now.”

  “Well, that certainly is accommodating of you. You know, of course, that this won’t be any expense to you, and there will be some remuneration for your services. Mr. Faber gave me money to cover all such items when he first asked me to help.”

  “But I wasn’t expecting remuneration,” said Astra. “I was glad to help someone in distress.”

  “Well, that makes it nice,” said Cameron, “but there will be remuneration. And now, may I know your name? It might be convenient, you know, before we are through with this business.”

  “I am Astra Everson,” said the girl. “And perhaps I ought to tell you that I am not a regular stenographer. Although I’ve had good training, I have never done that work for anybody but my father.”

  “I don’t see that that should make any difference,” said Cameron. “You evidently are a good stenographer. One could tell that by watching you work a few minutes. Your father is most fortunate to have such an able assistant.”

  Astra flashed a pleasant look at him.

  “Thank you,” she said gravely. “But my father died almost two years ago. I’ve been living with a relative since. But I’ve come away from her home now, and I’m on my own. I haven’t thought out my plans definitely yet.”

  “Yes?” said Cameron. “Well, could you perhaps give me an address where mail would be forwarded to you?”

  Astra thought for a moment and then gave him the address of an old friend of her father’s.

  “I shall keep in touch with them,” she said, “and leave a forwarding address there if I should go away.”

  “Thank you. I’ll be remembering that,” said Cameron. “I feel that you have done a great piece of work today. I doubt if there is another person on this train that could have covered the needs of that dying man as perfectly and comprehensively as you have done. I hesitate to speak of it, because I was not supposed to be in the room, and it seemed too sacred a thing for one to intrude upon. I mean your prayer. I don’t know a girl in my whole list of acquaintances who would have the courage to pray for that dying man, or would have known how, under such circumstances. Undoubtedly, some of my friends pray in private, or at least I suppose they do, but I wouldn’t be sure that one of them would have done it aloud or would have known what to say if they had tried.”

  Astra lifted wondering eyes, as if to make sure he had understood.

  “But, he asked me, you know.”

  “Yes, I heard. And it certainly was a genuine request. I never heard such pleading in a human voice, only one word, but it told all his need. Such anguish in human eyes—dying eyes.”

  “I know,” said Astra with a shaken voice. “I wished—someone else were there. I wished you had not gone out in the corridor. He needed some last message so much.”

  “Well, I’m ashamed to say that I wouldn’t have been able to give that man such a message as you gave. It seemed—well—really inspired! You touched on so much. It was the kind of prayer that I would have liked to have prayed for me if I had been that man—a hard, lonely businessman who never had had time from making money to think about God or the beyond.”

  Astra’s eyes were upon her plate, but she lifted them slowly as she spoke.

  “I think,” she said as she looked thoughtfully into his eyes, “that when God sends a duty like that for which one is utterly unprepared, the Holy Spirit gives the words one should use, don’t you? I wouldn’t have known how unless I had trusted Him to do that.”

  The young man looked at her in wonder.

  At last he spoke, with awe in his voice.

  “You must know God then very intimately, if you can expect a thing like that.”

  There was a question in his voice, and his eyes were still upon her. She was almost at a loss just how to answer him. Was he a Christian, or not?

  “Why,” she said with some hesitancy, “of course it is the privilege of all saved people to know God intimately.”

  “Is it?” he said after a moment of silence. “I never thought about it in that way. I am a church member, since boyhood, but I never exactly thought of myself as saved. I—hope to be, of course.”

  “But that is something you can be absolutely sure about if you have accepted Christ as your personal Savior,” said Astra. “We have God’s definite promise for that. ‘He that believeth hath everlasting life, and shall not come into condemnation; but is passed from death unto life.’”

  “Well, I’ve heard that verse, of course,” said Cameron, “but I never thought of it as being a definite personal assurance of salvation. Do you mean that if I have an intellectual conviction that Jesus Christ once lived on earth and died on the cross for men, that I have a right to feel that that covers everything? That I am saved through all eternity?”

  “Oh no, I wouldn’t dare to say just an intellectual belief would save. It has to be an active belief, trusting in what He has done for you personally as a sinner.”

  He studied her with interest.

  “How did you come to the knowledge of all this?” he asked at last. “You must have had a remarkable father.”

  “Yes,” said Astra, with a tender look in her eyes, “I did. He taught me to study the Bible.”

  Then there came the old porter from the car behind, who touched Cameron on the shoulder. The young man looked up questioningly.

  “De doctor say, will you please come to him. De old gemman seem to be dying, and de doctor needs you to send some telegrams an’ he’p make ’rangements.”

  “Of course,” said Cameron, throwing down his napkin and springing to his feet. Then turning to Astra he said, “You’ll excuse me, I know. I want to help, of course. No, I don’t think it will be necessary for you to come. You had better go to your own car for the night and get a good rest after your strenuous evening. Besides, it will be just as well for you to avoid the unpleasant old lady. When I left the car, she was still storming all around the place, determined to discover what you had written. You had a reservation, had you not? Can you find your way? Shall I take you there?”

  “Oh no, that’s not necessary. I can get back to my seat. But if there is any way that I can help, I’ll be glad to do it, even if she is unpleasant. Her words can’t hurt me.”

  “That’s good of you,” said Cameron. “If there is anything for you to do I’ll send for you or come for you. But I’m
sure it won’t be necessary. You had better have your berth made up and get some rest. Or had you a reservation? There will probably be plenty to do in the morning, and you need to get a good night’s sleep.”

  “No, I didn’t have a reservation. It was late when I got on the train, and I didn’t bother to hunt up the conductor to get one. I can always curl up in a day coach and get a good rest.”

  She smiled reassuringly, but Cameron looked determined.

  “No, that’s no way to rest. I’ll speak to the conductor for you and send you word. But go on back to your seat now. Your baggage is there, isn’t it? I should have looked after that for you, but it slipped my mind. However, go back now and I’ll look after everything. If I find I can’t get away myself, I’ll send this porter. You’ll know the lady, won’t you?”

  The dignified porter nodded his head.

  “Yassir! I know de lady!”

  Astra smiled, and the two men went on their way together, while she found her way back to her seat in the day coach, feeling a little as if she had been off the earth for a while and had suddenly been dropped back on her own again.

  Her seat was there, vacant as she had left it. Her two suitcases were there, one on the floor, the other in the rack above. The two reluctant stenographers were curled into separate seats, sound asleep, one with her hat hiding her face, the other with her face in full view, her mouth wide open, audibly snoring. Astra half smiled as she passed them, glad that they were not awake. They looked to her like girls who would have asked a lot of questions, and she would not have wanted to answer them.

  The windows were thick with snow now. There was no looking out on lighted towns, even if there had been any towns. They seemed to be going on endlessly into the night, and Astra was back where she had been several hours ago, looking into an unknown future, wondering what the next day, and the next, would bring forth in her life. Was she going to be sorry that she had left the shelter of her cousin’s uncongenial home? Was she just going into another more uncongenial atmosphere perhaps?