CHAPTER XLVII
SUSIE WINTHROP
Waiting with multitudes of others, Christine and Dennis at last receivedan army biscuit (hardtack in the soldier's vernacular) and a tin-cupof what resembled coffee. To him it was very touching to see how eagerlyshe received this coarse fare, proving that she was indeed almostfamished. Too weak to stand, they sat down near the door on thesidewalk. A kind lady presently came and said, "If you have no place togo you will find it more comfortable in the church."
They gladly availed themselves of her permission, as the throngedstreet was anything but pleasant.
"Mr. Fleet," said Christine, "I am now going to take care of you inreturn for your care last night," and she led him up to a secludedpart of the church by the organ, arranged some cushions on a seat, andthen continued: "As I have obeyed you, so you must now be equallydocile. Don't you dare move from that place till I call you;" and sheleft him.
He was indeed wearied beyond expression, and most grateful for a chanceto rest. This refuge and the way it was secured seemed almost a heavenlyexperience, and he thought with deepest longing, "If we could alwaystake care of each other, I should be perhaps too well satisfied withthis earthly life."
When after a little time Christine returned he was sleeping as heavilyas he had done before upon the beach, but the smile his last thoughtoccasioned still rested on his face.
For some little time she also sat near and rested, and her eyes soughthis face as if a story were written there that she never could finish.Then she went to make inquiries after her father. But no one to whomshe spoke knew anything about him.
Bread and other provisions were constantly arriving, but not fastenough to meet the needs of famishing thousands. Though not feelingvery strong she offered her services, and was soon busily engaged. Allpresent were strangers to her, but, when they learned from the inquiriesfor her father that she was Miss Ludolph, she was treated with deferenceand sympathy. But she assumed nothing, and as her strength permitted,during the day, she was ready for any task, even the humblest. Shehanded food around among the hungry, eager applicants, with such asweet and pitying face that she heard many a murmured blessing. Herefforts were all the more appreciated as all saw that she too hadpassed through the fire and had suffered deeply. At last a kind,motherly lady said: "My dear, you look ready to drop. Here, take this,"and she poured out a glass of wine and gave her a sandwich; "now, goand find some quiet nook and rest. It's your duty."
"I have a friend who has suffered almost everything in saving me. Heis asleep now, but he has had scarcely anything to eat for nearly threedays, and I know he will be very hungry when he wakes."
"Nothing to eat for three days! Why, you must take him a whole loaf,and this, and this," cried the good lady, about to provision Dennisfor a month.
"Oh, no," said Christine, with a smile, "so much would not be good forhim. If you will give me three or four sandwiches, and let me come forsome coffee when he wakes, it will be sufficient;" and she carriedwhat now seemed treasures to where Dennis was sleeping, and sat downwith a happy look in her face.
The day had been full of sweet, trustful thoughts. She was consciousof a presence within her heart and all around that she knew was Divine,and in spite of her anxiety about her father and the uncertainty ofthe future, she had a rest and contentment of mind that she had neverexperienced before. Then she felt such a genuine sympathy for thesufferers about her, and found them so grateful when she spoke to themgently and kindly, that she wondered she had never before discoveredthe joy of ministering to others. She was entering a new world, and,though there might be suffering in it, the antidote was ever near, andthe pleasures promised to grow richer, fuller, more satisfying, tillthey developed into the perfect happiness of heaven. But every Christianjoy that was like a sweet surprise--every thrilling hope that pointedto endless progress in all that is best and noblest in life, insteadof the sudden blank and nothingness that threatened but yesterday--and,above all, the animating consciousness of the Divine love which kepther murmuring, "My Saviour, my good, kind Heavenly Father," all remindedher of him who had been instrumental in bringing about the wondrouschange. Often during the day she would go and look at him, and couldDennis only have opened his eyes at such a moment, and caught herexpression, no words would have been needed to assure him of hishappiness.
The low afternoon sun shone in gold and crimson on his brow and facethrough the stained windows before he gave signs of waking, and thenshe hurried away to get the coffee hot from the urn.
She had hardly gone before he arose greatly refreshed and strengthened,but so famished that a roast ox would have seemed but a comfortablemeal. His eye at once caught the sandwiches placed temptingly near.
"That is Miss Ludolph's work," he said; "I wonder if she has saved anyfor herself." He was about to go and geek her when she met him withthe coffee.
"Go back," she said; "how dare you disobey orders?"
"I was coming to find you."
"Well, that is the best excuse you could have made, but I am here; sosit down and drink this coffee and devour these sandwiches."
"Not unless you share them with me."
"Insubordinate! See here," and she took out her more dainty provisionfrom behind a seat and sat down opposite, in such a pretty,companionable way that he in his admiration and pleasure forgot hissandwiches.
"What is the matter?" she asked. "You are to eat the sandwiches, notme."
"A very proper hint, Miss Ludolph; one might well be inclined to makethe mistake."
"Now that is a compliment worthy of the king of the Cannibal Islands."
"Miss Ludolph," said Dennis, looking at her earnestly, "you do indeedseem happy."
A ray of light slanting through a yellow diamond of glass fell witha sudden glory upon her face, and in a tone of almost ecstasy she said:"Oh, I am so glad and grateful, when I realize what might have been,and what is! It seems that I have lost so little in this fire incomparison with what I have gained. And but for you I might have losteverything. How rich this first day of life, real, true life, has been!My Heavenly Father has been so kind to me that I cannot express it.And then to think how I have wronged Him all these years!"
"You have indeed learned the secret of true eternal happiness, MissLudolph."
"I believe it--I feel sure of it. All trouble, all pain will one daypass away forever; and sometimes I feel as if I must sing for joy. Ido so long to see my father and tell him. I fear he won't believe itat first, but I can pray as you did, and it seems as if my Saviourwould not deny me anything. And now, Mr. Fleet, when you have finishedyour lunch, I am going to ask one more favor, and then will dub youtruest knight that ever served defenceless woman. You will find myfather for me, for I believe you can do anything."
Even in the shadow where he sat she caught the pained expression ofhis face.
She started up and grasped his arm.
"You know something," she said; then added: "Do not be afraid to findmy father now. When he knows what services you have rendered me, allestrangement, if any existed, will pass away."
But he averted his face, and she saw tears gathering in his eyes.
"Mr. Fleet," she gasped, "do you know anything I do not?"
He could hide the truth no longer. Indeed it was time she should learnit. Turning and taking her trembling hand, he looked at her so sadlyand kindly that she at once knew her father was dead.
"Oh, my father!" she cried, in a tone of anguish that he could neverforget, "you will never, never know. All day I have been longing toprove to you the truth of Christianity by my loving, patient tenderness,but you have died, and will never know," she moaned, shudderingly.
He still held her hand--indeed she clung to his as to something thatmight help sustain her in the dark, bitter hour.
"Poor, poor father!" she cried; "I never treated him as I ought, andnow he will never know the wealth of love I was hoping to lavish onhim." Then, looking at Dennis almost reproachfully, she said: "Couldyou not save him? You saved
so many others."
"Indeed I could not, Miss Ludolph; I tried, and nearly lost my lifein the effort. The great hotel behind the store fell and crushed allin a moment."
She shuddered, but at last whispered, "Why have you kept this so longfrom me?"
"How could I tell you when the blow would have been death? Even nowyou can scarcely bear it."
"My little beginning of faith is sorely tried. Heavenly Spirit," shecried, "guide me through this darkness, and let not doubt and unbeliefcloud my mind again."
"Such prayer will be answered," said Dennis, in a deep, low tone.
They sat in the twilight in silence. He still held her hand, and shewas sobbing more gently and quietly. Suddenly she asked, "Is it wrongthus to grieve over the breaking of an earthly tie?"
"No, not if you will say as did your Lord in His agony, 'Oh, my Father,Thy will be done.'"
"I will try," she said, softly, "but it is hard."
"He is a merciful and faithful High Priest. For in that He Himselfhath suffered, being tempted, He is able to succor them that aretempted."
"Do you know that I think my change in feeling makes me grieve all themore deeply? Until to-day I never loved my father as I ought. It isthe curse of unbelief to deaden everything good in the heart. Oh, Ido feel such a great, unspeakable pity for him!"
"Like as a father pitieth his children, so the Lord pitieth them thatfear Him."
"Is that in the Bible?" she asked.
"Yes."
"It is very sweet. He indeed must be my refuge now, for I am alone inthe world."
"He has said, 'I will never leave thee nor forsake thee.' I have passedthrough this sorrow so recently myself that I can sympathize with youas a fellow-sufferer."
"True, true, you have," she answered. "Is that the reason that Christsuffered with us--that we might know He sympathized with us?"
"Yes."
"How unspeakably comforting is such sympathy, both human and divine!Tell me about your mother."
"I fear I cannot without being unmanned. She was one of Heaven'sfavorites, and I owe everything to her. I can tell you one thing,though, she prayed for you continually--even with her dying lips, whenmy faith had broken down."
This touched Christine very deeply. At last she said, "I shall see hersome day."
"I wish you had seen her," he continued very sadly, looking as if ata scene far away.
"You cannot wish it more than I. Indeed I would have called on her,had it not been for an unfortunate accident."
He looked at her with some surprise, as if not understanding her remark,but said, "She greatly wished to see you before she died."
"Oh, I wish I had known it!"
"Did you not know it?" he asked, in a startled manner.
"No, but I felt grateful to her, for I understood that she offered totake care of me in case I had the smallpox. I wanted to visit her verymuch, and at last thought I would venture to do so, but just then Isprained my ankle. I sent my maid to inquire, but fear she didn't domy errand very well," added Christine, looking down.
"She never came, Miss Ludolph." Then he continued, eagerly: "I fearI have done you a great wrong. A little time before my mother died,she wrote you a line saying that she was dying and would like to seeyou. I did not know you could not come--I thought you would not."
Crimson with shame and humiliation, Christine buried her burning cheeksin her hands and murmured, "I never received it."
"And did you send the exquisite flowers and fruit?" he asked. "Ah, Isee that you did. I am so glad--so very glad that I was mistaken! Isincerely ask your pardon for my unjust thoughts."
"It is I who should ask pardon, and for a long time I have earnestlywished that I might find opportunity to do so. My conduct has beensimply monstrous, but of late it has seemed worse than the reality.Everything has been against me. If you only knew--but--" (and her headbowed lower). Then she added, hastily, "My maid has been false, andI must have appeared more heartless than ever." But, with biter shameand sorrow, she remembered who must have been the inspirer of thetreachery, and, though she never spoke of it again, she feared thatDennis suspected it also. It was one of those painful things that mustbe buried, even as the grave closes over the frail, perishing body.
Let those who are tempted to a wicked, dishonorable deed remember that,even after they are gone, the knowledge of it may come to those wholoved them, like an incurable wound.
Dennis's resolution not to speak till Christine should be no longerdependent on him was fast melting away, as he learned that she had notbeen so callous and forgetful as she had seemed. But before he couldadd another word, a wild, sweet, mournful voice was heard singing:
"O fiery storm, wilt never cease? Thy burning hail falls on my heart; Bury me deep, that I in peace May rest where death no more can part."
In awed, startled tones they both exclaimed, "SUSIE WINTHROP!"