God's Good Man by Marie Corelli (best young adult book series .txt) đ
- Author: Marie Corelli
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Cicely clasped her hands nervously.
âOh, donâ you think Maryllia will come through the operation all right?â she implored, for about the hundredth time in the course of two days.
Julian looked away from her.
âI donât knowâand I donât like to express any opinion about it,ââ he answered, with careful gentlenessââBut there is dangerâandâif the worst should happen---â
âIt wonât happen! It shanât happen!â cried Cicely passionately.
âDear little singing Goblin, I wish you could control fate!â And, taking her hand, he patted it affectionately. âEverything would be all right for everybody if you could make it so, Iâm sure!âeven for me! Wouldnât it?â
Cicely blushed suddenly.
âI donât know,ââshe saidââI never think about you!â
He smiled.
âDonât you? Well,âperhaps some day you will! When you are a great prima donna, you will read the poems and verses I shall write about you in all the newspapers and magazines, and you will say as you take kingsâ and emperorsâ diamonds out of your hair: âWho is this fellow? Ah yes! I remember him! He was a chum of mine down in the little village of St. Rest. I called him Mooncalf, and he called me Goblin. Andâhe was very fond of me!ââ
She laughed a little, and drew away her hand from his.
âDonât talk nonsense!â she saidââThink of Marylliaâand of Mr. Walden!â
âI do think of them,âI think of them all the time!â declared Julian earnestlyââAnd that is why I am so uneasy. Forâif the worst should happen, it will break Waldenâs heart.â
Cicelyâs eyes filled with tears. She hurried away from him without another word or glance.
The fateful morning dawned. Walden had parted from Maryllia the previous night, promising himself that he would see her again before she passed into the surgeonâs hands,âbut Forsyth would not permit this.
âShe does not wish it, John,ââhe saidââAnd she has asked me to tell you so. Stay away from the Manorâkeep quiet in your own house, if you feel unable to perform your usual round of work. It will be best for her and for you. I will let you know directly the operation is over. Santori is already here. Nowââand he gave Waldenâs hand a close and friendly gripââsteady, John! Say your prayers if you like,âwe want all the help God can give us!â
The door opened and closed againâhe was gone. A great silence,âa horrible oppression and loneliness fell upon Waldenâs heart. He sank into his accustomed chair and stared before him with unseeing eyes,- -mechanically patting his dog Nebbie while gently pushing the animal back in its attempts to clamber on his knee.
âMy God, my God!â he mutteredââWhat shall I do without her?â
Someone opened the door again just then. He started, thinking that Forsyth had returned perhaps to tell him something he had forgotten. But the tall attenuated form that confronted him was not that of Forsyth. A look of amazed recognition, almost of awe, flashed into his eyes.
âBrent!â he cried,âand he caught at the pale hands extended to him,âhands like those of a saint whose flesh is worn by fasting and prayer;âthen, with something of a sob, exclaimed againââHarry! Howâwhy did you come?â
Brentâs eyes met his with a world of sympathy and tenderness in their dark and melancholy depths.
âI have come,ââhe said,âand his musical voice, grave and sweet, trembled with deep feelingââbecause I think this is your dark hour, John!âand because---perhaps---you may need me!â
And John, meeting that sad and steadfast gaze, and shaken beyond control by his pent-up suffering and suspense, suddenly fell on his knees.
âHelp me!â he cried, appealingly, with the tears struggling in his throatââYou are rightâI need you! Help me to be strongâyou are nearer God than I am! Pray for me!â
Gently the Bishop withdrew his hands from the fevered clasp that held them, and laid them tenderly on the bowed head. His lips moved, but he uttered no words. There was a solemn pause, broken only by the slow ticking of the clock in the outer hall.
Presently, rising in obedience to his friendâs persuasive touch, Walden stood awhile with face turned away, trying to master himself, yet trembling in every nerve, despite his efforts.
âBrent,ââhe began, huskilyââI am ashamed that you should see me like this---so weak---â
âA weakness that will make you stronger by and by, John!â and the Bishop linked a friendly arm within his ownââCome into the church with me, will you? I feel the influence of your enshrined Saint upon me! Let us wait for news, good or bad, at the altar,âand while waiting, we will pray. Do you remember what I said to you when you came to see me last summer? âSome day, when we are in very desperate straits, we will see what your Saint can do for usâ? Come!â
Without a word of demur, John obeyed. They passed out of the house together and took the private by-path to the church. It was then about noon, and the sun shone through a soft mist that threatened rain without permitting it to fall. The faint piping of a thrush in the near distance suggested the music of the coming Spring, and the delicate odour of plant-life pushing its way through the earth gave a pungent freshness to the quiet air. Arriving at the beautiful little sanctuary, they entered it by the vestry, though the public door stood open according to invariable custom. A singularly brilliant glare of luminance reflected from the plain clear glass that filled the apertures of the rose-window above the altar, struck aslant on the old-world sarcophagus which doubtless contained the remains of one who, all âmiraculousâ attributes apart, had nobly lived and bravely died,âand as the Bishop moved reverently round it to the front of the altar-rails, his eyes were uplifted and full of spiritual rapture.
âKneel here with me, John!â he saidââAnd with all our hearts and all our minds, let us pray to God for the life of the beloved woman whom God has given you,âgiven, surely, not to take away again, but to be more completely made your own! Let us pray, as the faithful servants of Christ prayed in the early days of the Church,ânot hesitatingly, not doubtingly, not fearingly!âbut believing and making sure that our prayers will, if good for us, be granted!â
They knelt together. Walden, folding his arms on the altar-rails, hid his face,âbut the Bishop, clasping his hands and fixing his eyes on the word âResurgetâ that flashed out of the worn alabasterâ wherein the unknown âSaintâ reposed, seemed to gather to himself all the sunlight that poured through the window above him, and to exhale from his own slight worn frame something like the mystic halo of glory pictured round the figure of an apostle or evangelist.
The minutes slowly ebbed away. The church clock chimed the half-hour after noonâand they remained absorbed in a trance of speechless, passionate prayer. They were unaware that some of Waldenâs parishioners, moved by the same idea of praying for Maryllia while she was undergoing the operation which was to save or slay, had come to the church also for that purpose, but were brought to a pause on the threshold of the building by the sight they saw within. That their own beloved âPassonâ should be kneeling at the altar in the agony of his own heartâs Gethsemane was too much for their simple and affectionate souls,âand they withdrew in haste and silence, many of them with tears in their eyes. They were considerably awed too by the discovery that no less a personage than the Bishop of the diocese himself was companioning Walden in his trouble,âand, moving away in little groups of twos and threes, they stood about here and there in the churchyard, waiting for they knew not what, and all affected by the same thrill of mingled suspense, hope and fear. Among them was Bainton, who, when he had peered into the white silence of the church and had seen for himself that it was indeed his master who was praying there beside his Bishop, made no pretence to hide his emotion.
âWe be all fools together,ââhe said to Adam Frost in hoarse accents, wiping his eyes with the back of his handââWe ainât no stronger nor wiser than a lot oâ chitterinâ sparrows on a housetop! Old Josey, he be too weak anâ ailinâ to get out in this kind oâ weather, but he sez heâs prayinâ âard, which I truly believe he is, though he ainât in church. All the village is on its knees this marninâ I reckon, whether itâs workinâ in fields or gardens, or barns or orchards, anâ if the Lord Aâmighty donât take no notice of us, He must be powerful âard of âearinâ!â
Adam Frost coughed warningly,âjerked his thumb in the direction of the church, and was silent.
Suddenly a lark sang. Rising from the thick moss and jgrass which quilted over the grave of âthâ owld Squire,â Marylliaâs father, the bird soared hoveringly aloft into the sun-warmed February air,âand by one common impulse the villagers looked up, watching the quivering of its wings.
âBless us! Thatâs the first skylark of the year!â said Mrs. Frost, who, holding her blue-eyed âBaby Hippolyta,â otherwise Ipsie, by the hand, stood near the church porchââAinât it singinâ sweet?â
âFine!â murmured one or two of her gossips near her,ââSeems a good sign oâ smilinâ weather!â
There was a silence then among the merely human company, while the bird of heaven sang on more and more exultingly, and soared higher and higher into the misty grey-blue of the sky.
All at once the clock struck with a sharp clang âone.â Inside the church, its deep reverbation startled the watchers from their prayers with an abrupt shockâand Walden lifted his head from his folded arms, showing in the bright shaft of strong sunshine that now bathed him in its radiance, his sad eyes, heavy and swollen with restrained tears. Suddenly there was a murmur of voices outside,âa smothered cry,âand then a little flying figure, breathless, hatless, with wild sparkling eyes and dark hair streaming loose in the wind, rushed into the church. It was Cicely. âItâs all over!â she cried.
Walden sprang up, sick and dizzy. Bishop Brent rose from his knees slowly, his delicate right hand clutching nervously at the altar rail. Like men in a dream, they heard and gazed, stricken by a mutual horror too paralysing for speech.
âAll over!ââmuttered John, feeblyââMy God!âmy God! All over!â
Cicely sprang to him and caught his arm.
âYes!âDonât you understand?â and her voice shook with excitementâ âAll over! She is safe!âquite safe!âshe will be well!âMr. Walden!âJohn!âdonât look at me like that! oh dear!â and she turned a piteous glance on Bishop Brent who was, to her, a complete strangerââHe doesnât seem to hear meâplease speak to him!âdo make him understand! Everything has been done successfullyâand Maryllia will liveâshe will be her own dear bright self again! As soon as I heard the good news, I raced down here to tell you and everybody!â oh John!âpoor John!â
For, with a great sigh and a sudden stretching upward of his arms as though he sought to reach all Heaven with his soulâs full measure of gratitude, John staggered blindly a few steps from the altar of the Saintâs Rest and fell,âsenseless.
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