"'Tis often a sore bit of road," continued Gwen, "sore and rough
walkin', but when the Father is waiting for us at the top of the way;
waiting and smiling, with arms outstretched, why then we go on even
through death itself to find Him."
"And when we find Him?" I asked.
"Ah! my maid, _when_ we find Him, 'tis much the same, I think, as when
the shepherd overtook the lost lamb; the lamb lies down in the
shepherd's arms, and the child in the Father's, 'tis much the same."
I lay back again on my pillow; Gwen covered me up, kissed me tenderly,
and went away. I lay quiet for a few moments, then I sat up in bed,
pressed my hands on my cheeks, and looked out through the window, at the
white sky and shining moon. I looked eagerly and passionately. I had
been sleepy; I was not sleepy now. After a time of steady gazing into
the pitiless cold heavens, I began to cry, then out of my sobs two words
were wrung from me, "_My Father_." Never was there a girl more
surrounded by religious influences, and yet less at heart religious than
I. This was the first time in my whole life that I really felt a
conscious want of God. The wish for God and the longing to understand
Owen, to be reconciled to Owen, came simultaneously, but neither were
very strong as yet. As yet, these two wants only stirred some surface
tears, and beat on the outer circle of my heart. I knew nothing of the
longing which would even go through the valley of the shadow of death to
the Father, nothing of the love which would care a thousand times more
for Owen _because_ he had sinned and had repented. I wanted God only a
little, my cry was but from the surface of my heart, still it was a real
cry, and had more of the true spirit of prayer in it than all the
petitions I had made carelessly, morning and evening since my babyhood.
After a time I lay down, and, tired out, went to sleep. I did not sleep
easily, I had confused dreams of Owen, of little David, of Gwen. Then I
had a distinct vision. I saw the children of the under-viewer, playing
on the place where the shaft leading down into Pride's Pit had been; the
ground was smooth, the danger was past, the children played happily and
shouted gleefully. Two of them ran to tell their mother, the baby
stayed to throw gravel into the air. All looked secure, but it was not
so; as I watched, I suddenly perceived that the work was badly done, the
place only half filled up; as I watched, I saw the loose stones and
rubbish give way, and the baby sink into the loathsome pit below;
although I was quite close, I could hold out no hand to save the
under-viewer's baby.