"PRAYER IS MIGHTY"--CHRISTINE A CHRISTIAN
The day was now declining, and the fire in that part of the city
opposite them had so spent itself that they were beginning to have a
little respite from immediate danger. The fiery storm of sparks and
cinders was falling mostly to the northward.
Dennis now ventured to sit down almost for the first time, for he was
wearied beyond endurance. The tremendous danger and excitements, and
the consciousness of peril to the one most dear to him, had kept him
alert long after he ought to have had rest, but overtaxed nature now
asserted its rights, and the moment the sharp spur of danger was removed
he was overpowered by sleep.
Christine spoke to him as he sat near, but even to her (a thing he
could not have imagined possible) he returned an incoherent reply.
"My poor friend, you do indeed need rest," said she, in kindest accents.
He heard her voice like a sweet and distant harmony in a dream, swayed
a moment, and would have fallen over in utter unconsciousness on the
sands, had she not glided to his side and caught his head upon her lap.
In the heavy stupor that follows the utmost exhaustion, Dennis slept
hour after hour. The rest of the day was a perfect blank to him. But
Christine, partially covering and shading his face with the edge of
her shawl, bent over him as patient in watching as he had been brave
in her deliverance. It was beautiful to see the features once so cold
and haughty, now sweet with more than womanly tenderness. There upon
that desolate beach, cold, hungry, homeless, shelterless, she was
happier than she had been for months. But she trembled as she thought
of the future; everything was so uncertain. She seemed involved in a
labyrinth of dangers and difficulties from which she could see no
escape. She knew that both store and home had gone, and probably most,
if not all, of her father's fortune. She felt that these losses might
greatly modify his plans, and really hoped that they would lead him
to remain in this country. She felt almost sure that he would not go
back to Germany a poor man, and to remain in America was to give her
a chance of happiness, and happiness now meant life with him over whom
she bent. For a long time she had felt that she could give up all the
world for him, but now existence would scarcely be endurable without
him. In proportion to the slowness with which her love had been kindled
was its intensity--the steady, concentrated passion of a strong,
resolute nature, for the first time fully aroused. All indecision
passed from her mind, and she was ready to respond whenever he should
speak; but woman's silence sealed her lips, and more than maiden
delicacy masked her heart. While she bent over him with an expression
that, had he opened his eyes, might have caused him to imagine for a
moment that his sleep had been death, and he had wakened in heaven,
yet he must needs awake to find that the look and manner of earth had
returned. Her sensitive pride made her guarded even in expressing her
gratitude, and she purposed to slip his head off upon her shawl whenever
he showed signs of awakening, so that he might believe that the earth
only had been his resting-place.
But now in his unconsciousness, and unnoted by all around, indeed more
completely isolated by the universal misery and apathy about her than
she could have been in her own home, with a delicious sense of security,
she bent her eyes upon him, and toyed daintily with the curling locks
on his brow. Whatever the future might be, nothing should rob her of
the strange, unexpected happiness of this opportunity to be near him,
purchased at such cost.
As she sat there and saw the fire rush and roar away to the northward,
and the sun decline over the ruins of her earthly fortune, she thought
more deeply and earnestly of life than ever before. The long, heavy
sleep induced by the opiate had now taken away all sense of drowsiness,
and never had her mind been clearer. In the light of the terrible
conflagration many things stood out with a distinctness that impressed
her as nothing had ever done before. Wealth and rank had shrivelled
to their true proportions, and she said, half aloud:--
"That which can vanish in a night in flame and smoke cannot belong to
us, is not a part of us. All that has come out of the crucible of this
fire is my character, myself. It is the same with Mr. Fleet; but
comparing his character with mine, how much richer he is! What if there
is a future life, and we enter into it with no other possession than
our character? and that which is called soul or spirit is driven forth
from earth and the body as we have just been from our wealth and homes?
I can no longer coolly and contemptuously ignore as superstition what
he believes. He is not superstitious, but calm, fearless, and seemingly
assured of something that as yet I cannot understand. One would think
that there must be reality in his belief, for it sustains him and
others in the greatest of trials. The hymn he sang was like a magnet
introduced among steel filings mingled with this sand. The mere earth
cannot move, but the steel is instinct with life. So, while many of
us could not respond, others seemed inspired at the name of Jesus with
new hope and courage, and cried to the Nazarene as if He could hear
them. Why don't people cry for help to other good men who lived in the
dim past, and whose lives and deeds are half myth and half truth? why
to this one man only? for educated Catholics no longer pray to the
saints."
Then her thoughts reverted to Mr. Ludolph.
"Poor father!" said she; "how will he endure these changes? We have
not felt and acted toward each other as we ought. He is now probably
anxious beyond measure, fearing that I perished in my sleep, and so
I should have done, had it not been for this more than friend that I
have so wronged. Oh, that I could make amends! I wonder--oh, I wonder
if he has any spark of love left for me? He seems kind, even tender,
but he is so to every one--he saved Miss Brown--"
But here a most violent interruption took place. Christine, in the
complete absorption of her thoughts, had not noticed that a group of
rough men and women near by, who had been drinking all day, had now
become intoxicated and violent. They were pushing and staggering,
howling and fighting, in reckless disregard of the comfort of others,
and before she knew it she was in the midst of a drunken brawl. One
rough fellow struck against her, and another trod on Dennis, who started
up with a cry of pain. In a moment he comprehended the situation, and,
snatching up Christine and the shawl, he pushed his way out of the
melee with his right arm, the wretches striking at him and one another
aimlessly in their fury; while both men and women used language that
was worse than their blows. After a brief struggle, Dennis and Christine
extricated themselves, and made their way northward up the beach till
they found a place where the people seemed quiet.
Dennis's sudden awakening had revealed to him that his head had been
pillowed, and it seemed such a kind and thoughtful act on Christine's
part that he could scarcely believe it; at the same time he was full
of shame and self-reproach that by his sleep he had left her unguarded,
and he said: "Miss Ludolph, I hope you will pardon you recreant knight,
who slept while you were in danger; but really I could not help it."
"It is I who must ask pardon," replied Christine, warmly. "After your
superhuman exertions, your very life depended on rest. But I made a
wretched watcher--indeed I have lost confidence in myself every way.
To tell the truth, Mr. Fleet, I was lost in thought, and with your
permission I would like to ask you further about two things you said
this morning. You asserted that you knew God loved you, and that
Christianity was sustained by arguments that no candid mind could
resist. What are those arguments? and how can you know such a comforting
thing as the love of God?"
His eyes lighted up in his intense delight that she should again
voluntarily recur to this subject, and he hoped that God was leading
her to a knowledge of Him, and that he, in answer to his own and his
mother's prayers, might be partially instrumental in bringing the
light. Therefore he said, earnestly: "Miss Ludolph, this is scarcely
the time and place to go over the evidences of Christianity. When in
happy security I hope you may do this at your leisure, and am sure you
will be convinced, for I believe that you honestly wish the truth. But
there is no need that you should wait and look forward into the
uncertain future for this priceless knowledge. The father will not
keep his child waiting who tries to find him. God is not far from any
one of us. When our Lord was on earth, He never repulsed those who
sought Him in sincerity, and He is the true manifestation of God.
"Moreover," he continued, reverently, "God is now on earth as truly
as when Christ walked the waves of Galilee, or stood with the
life-giving word upon His lips at the grave of His friend Lazarus. The
mighty Spirit of God now dwells among men to persuade, help, and lead
them into all truth, and I believe He is guiding you. This Divine
Spirit can act as directly on your mind as did Christ's healing hand
when He touched blind eyes and they saw, and palsied bodies and they
sprung into joyous activity."
Under his eager, earnest words, Christine's eyes also lighted up with
hope, but after a moment her face became very sad, and she said,
wearily, "Mystery! mystery! you are speaking a language that I do not
understand."
"Can you not understand this: 'For God so loved the world, that He
gave His only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in Him should not
perish, but have everlasting life'? and that the Bible tells us that
His Son did, in very truth, die that we might live?"
"Yes, yes, I know that the Bible seems to teach all that, but there
must be some mistake about it. Why should an all-powerful God take
such a costly, indirect way of accomplishing His purpose when a word
would suffice?"
"We will not discuss God's reasons; I think they are beyond us. But
imagining the Bible story to be true, even though you do not believe
it, is not the love of God revealed to us through His son, Jesus
Christ?"
"Yes, it is the very extravagance of disinterested love, So much so
that my reason revolts at it. It is contrary to all my ideas of Deity
and power."
"Pardon me, Miss Ludolph, for saying it, but I think your ideas of
Deity are borrowed more from mythology and human greatness than from
the Bible. Let your reason stand aside a moment; this is not contrary
to it, but beyond it. Imagining the Bible story true, can you not wish
it true? If the man who died on Calvary out of love for you I and for
us all is also God, would you fear to trust yourself to Him? Could
you distrust One who loved you well enough to die for you?"
"No! no, indeed! if I only could believe it, no! But how can I ever
be sure it is true? I am sure of nothing. I am not sure there is a
God. I am not sure the Bible is more than human in its character. I
feel as if my feet stood out upon those shifting waves, and as if there
were nothing certain or stable."
"But in part you know the truth, Miss Ludolph, though you do not believe
it, and I believe that the God of whom we have spoken _can directly
reveal Himself to you_ and make His truth as real to you as it is to
me."
"Mr. Fleet," cried Christine, "if I could believe as you do, I should
be the happiest of the happy, for I should feel that, however much I
suffered in this brief life, in the existence beyond I should be more
than compensated;" and covering her tearful face with her hands she
moaned, as if it were wrung from her, "I have suffered so much, and
there seemed no remedy!"
Dennis's feelings were also deeply touched, and the dew of sympathy
gathered in his own eyes. In the gentlest accents be said, "Oh, that
you could trust that merciful, mighty One who invites all the heavy
laden to come to Him for rest!"
She looked up and saw his sympathy, and was greatly moved. In faltering
tones she said: "You feel for me, Mr. Fleet. You do not condemn me in
my blindness and unbelief. I cannot trust Him, because I am not sure
He exists. If there was such a God I would gladly devote my whole being
to Him; but I trust _you_, and will do anything you say."
"Will you kneel on these sands with me in prayer to Him?" he asked,
earnestly.
She hesitated, trembled, but at last said, "Yes."
He took her hand as if they were brother and sister, and they kneeled
together on the desolate beach. The glow of sunset was lost in the
redder glow of the fire that smouldered all over the ruins, and still
raged in the northwest, and the smoke and gathering gloom involved
them in obscurity.
Though the weary, apathetic fugitives regarded them not, we believe
that angelic forms gathered round, and that the heart of the Divine
Father yearned toward His children.
When they rose, after a simple prayer from Dennis, in which he pleaded
almost as a child might with an earthly father, Christine trembled
like a leaf, and was very pale, but her face grew tearless, quiet, and
very sad. Dennis still held her hand in the warm, strong grasp of
sympathy. Gently she withdrew it, and said, in a low, despairing tone:
"It is all in vain. There is no answer. Your voice has been lost in
the winds and waves."
"Wait the King's time," said he, reverently.
"You addressed him as Father. Would a good father keep his child
waiting?"
"Yes, sometimes He does; He is also King."
After a moment she turned to him the saddest face he ever looked upon,
and said, gently, again giving him her hand, "Mr. Fleet, you have done
your best for me, and I thank you all the same."
He was obliged to turn away to hide his feelings. Silently they again
sat down on the beach together. Weariness and something like despair
began to tell on Christine, and Dennis trembled when he thought of the
long night of exposure before her. He bent his face into his hands and
prayed as he had never prayed before. She looked at him wistfully, and
knew he was pleading for her; but she now believed it was all in vain.
The feeling grew upon her that belief or unbelief was a matter of
education and temperament, and that the feelings of which Dennis spoke
were but the deceptive emotions of our agitated hearts. To that degree
that the Divine love seemed visionary and hopeless, she longed for him
to speak of his own, if in truth it still existed, that she could
understand and believe in. If during what remained of life she could
only drink the sweetness of that, she felt it was the best she could
hope for--and then the blank of nothingness.
But he prayed on, and with something of his mother's faith seemed at
last, as it were, in the personal presence of Christ. With an
importunity that would not be denied, he entreated for her who despaired
at his side.
At last, putting her hand lightly on his arm, she said: "Mr. Fleet,
waste no more time on me. From the groans I hear, some poor woman is
sick or hurt. Perhaps you can do some real good by seeing to her needs."
He rose quietly, feeling that in some way God would answer, and that
he must patiently wait.
Going up the beach a short distance he found a German woman lying just
on the edge of the water. In answer to his questions, he learned from
her broken English that she was sick and in pain. A sudden thought
struck him. In seeking to help another, might not Christine find help
herself, and in the performance of a good deed, might not the Author
of all good reveal Himself? Returning to her, he said: "Miss Ludolph,
the poor woman you have heard is sick and alone. She is German, and
you can speak to her and comfort her as only a woman can."
Christine went at once, though with little confidence in her powers.
Indeed it was, perhaps, the first visit of charity and mercy she had
ever made. But she would have done anything he asked, and determined
to do her best. She helped the poor creature further up from the water,
and then, taking her hands, spoke to her soothingly and gently in her
native tongue.
"Heaven and all the angels bless your sweet face for taking pity on
a poor lone body, and so they will too," is the free rendering of her
grateful German.
"Would you please say a little prayer for a lone, sick body?" she
asked, after a little while.
Christine hesitated a moment, and then thought: "Why not? if it will
be of any comfort to the poor thing. It can do neither of us harm."
Dennis saw her kneel at the woman's side, lift her white face to heaven,
and her lips move. Her attitude was unmistakably that of prayer. He
could scarcely believe his eyes.
Her petition was brief and characteristic: "O God--if there is a
God--help this poor creature!"
Then Dennis saw her start up and glance around in a strange, bewildered
manner. Suddenly she clasped her hands and looked up with an ecstatic,
thrilling cry: "There is! there is! God lives and loves me, I feel,
I know, and therefore I may hope and live." Turning to the still raging
flames, she exclaimed: "Burn on with your fiery billows, I do not fear
you now! I am safe, safe forever! Oh, how can I ever love and praise
Thee enough!"
Then, springing to Dennis's side, she took both his hands in hers, and
said: "Mr. Fleet, you have saved my life again and again, and I am,
oh, how grateful! but in leading me to this knowledge you have made
me your debtor for evermore. God does live, and I believe now He loves
even me."
As the glare of the fire fell on her face, he was awed and speechless
at its expression. From its ecstatic joy and purity it seemed that the
light of heaven, instead of her burning home, was illumining it.
At last he said, brokenly, "Thank God! thank God! my many, many prayers
are answered!"
The look of love and gratitude she gave him will only find its
counterpart in heaven, when the saved beam upon those who led them to
the Saviour. The whole of her strong womanly soul, thoroughly aroused,
was in her face, and it shone like that of an angel.
To Dennis, with the force of fulfilled prophecy, recurred his mother's
words, and unconsciously he spoke them aloud: "PRAYER is MIGHTY."