RAY'S FULL SURRENDER.
The train arrived at Afton a little past midnight, and Ray and Edward
found Dr. Gasque at the station with his carriage waiting for them. To
their anxious inquiry as to Mrs. Lawton's condition, the doctor briefly
replied:
"She had a paralytic stroke this afternoon, and is still lying in an
unconscious condition. We cannot yet tell the result, but we fear the
worst. Dr. Platt is in consultation with me, and is now in charge of
the patient."
When they reached the house, Daisy could tell but little more. She and
her mother had been out calling that afternoon after school was out;
on their return home the mother had gone to her own room apparently as
well as usual. A moment later Daisy heard a heavy fall, and hastening
to the chamber, found her mother unconscious upon the floor. Calling
the house girl, they had raised the unconscious form and placed her
upon the bed, and immediately sent for Dr. Gasque. He had called in Dr.
Platt, and one or both physicians had been there ever since, but as yet
no change in the mother's condition was perceptible.
Slowly the hours passed. Dr. Gasque called Edward in to assist Dr.
Platt and himself, and with powerful batteries they tried to arouse
the feeble vitality of their patient, while Ray and Daisy remained
within easy call, anxiously waiting for the slightest evidence that the
mother was really better. When morning came, Mrs. Lawton had regained
consciousness, but was unable to speak, or to move hand or foot. Then
began a vigil, not of hours or days, but of weeks. Daisy procured a
substitute for the rest of the school term, and took charge of the
household; a trained and skillful nurse was secured for Mrs. Lawton;
Edward and Ray returned to the city for the closing exercises of the
medical college and seminary, and then hastened back to Afton. Ray now
ventured to speak to Daisy of the decision of the mission board, and
the field to which they had been assigned.
"This sudden illness of your mother," he continued, "will, I know,
change our plans. But what shall we do, Daisy darling?"
The face that looked up into his was deathly pale; marks of intense
anguish were there; and she could scarcely control her voice, as she
replied:
"You will have to go alone, Ray. The doctors say mother can never be
any better, but she may live in this condition for years. My duty,
then, is clear. I must remain here by mother's side until all is over.
I cannot tell you, nor can you ever know what this decision has cost
me. To give you up, Ray; to feel that thousands of miles separate us;
to know that you may be sick, or may even die there, and I cannot be
with you! Oh, my Saviour, how can I, how can I!" And she threw herself
in a paroxysm of grief upon his breast. Gently he stroked the waving
tresses until she grew calmer.
"Can it be," he then asked, with a troubled face, "that I have made a
mistake in thinking we were called to this work when it was not God's
will? Does he mean by this providence to show us that we are to remain
at home, and toil here for him? I can readily find a field of labor,
and we can be married; your mother can be moved to our home, and still
we can walk side by side in the Master's work."
"Oh, Ray!" she exclaimed, almost in alarm, "I have already battled
with that temptation, and won the victory. Don't bring it up again, or
persuade yourself it is God's will. You have not mistaken your life's
work. Those heathen lands are calling you. God is saying in tones
you cannot mistake, 'Obey the call.' I know it. Why he should have
prevented me from going with you, I cannot tell. It may be I am not
fitted for the work. It may be we loved each other too well, and he
wants to teach us to love him first and most of all. I do not question
his wisdom. I cannot understand, but I trust him. Don't think my love
for you has in any wise diminished. Never were you so dear to me.
Death would be a trifle beside this living separation from you; but he
has made this duty, and for his sake I can drink the cup. 'Though he
slay me, yet will I trust him.'" A look of calm resignation had settled
on her face; you could see she suffered, yet her heart was at peace;
for when the human will has lost itself in the divine will, the soul is
always at rest.
"You are braver than I," murmured Ray, kissing her passionately, and
then he hastened from the room.
Putting on his hat, he started off at a brisk walk for the hills. He
felt he must have air and space for this great struggle with himself.
His struggle was not over his going to the foreign field. He admitted
that was duty; but might he not put off that going for a year, and
then Daisy might be able to go with him? This seemed plausible, for it
coincided with his own wishes. Might not God have purposely delayed
their going so that they would have more time to study the language of
the people to whom they were assigned? Why had he not thought of this
before? The more he dwelt upon it, and weighed the reasons for such
a delay, the more convinced he was that he had now solved the great
purpose of God's unexpected providence. He felt sure of it when, after
a long tramp, he came around by the office for his mail. A letter was
there from Mr. Grafton, of Easton, asking him to supply, for a Sunday
or two, the church which he had been accustomed to attend during his
academic days. This church had had a marvelous growth during the years
he had been away from there. A large and beautiful house of worship, a
vigorous church membership, and an ample salary, were the inducements
it offered to the coming pastor; and Mr. Grafton had added: "I am
instructed by our church committee to say that if you, on visiting us,
should care to enter into a permanent relation with us, such a course
will be most satisfactory to the church." Ray read the letter through,
and then hastened back to the cottage. Finding Daisy, he poured forth
in glowing language his convictions, and, reading the letter to her, he
asked:
"Was ever anything plainer? Here, without the asking, has God appointed
my work; you can now become my wife, and together we will toil at
Easton, until God opens the way for our going to the foreign field."
A great hope, for a moment, came into her pale, anxious face; then she
said, quietly: "We will pray over it, Ray, and if it truly seems to be
God's will, I shall be only too happy to grant your request." And she
hid her blushing face on his shoulder.
"We will pray over it, Ray." Those words came with a condemning force
to his ears. In all his weighing of the question, he had not prayed
over it. He had not even thought of it; and now, as he realized this,
and that he had not followed his usual custom of taking all of his
plans to God for his direction, he was startled. Was he really setting
up his own will, and trying to make God's will conform to it, instead
of asking what was God's will, and then yielding his own will to that?
"You are right, my Daisy," he said, raising her blushing face up to his
for a kiss. "I am afraid I have not tried to settle this question as I
should have done; we will indeed pray over it. Meantime, I can see no
harm in going up to Easton and preaching for that church on Sunday. In
that way God may give us light on this important question."
But when he got to Easton and found how anxious the Grand Avenue Church
people were to have him for their pastor, and how sure they were it
would not be right for him to sail to his mission field without a wife,
he yielded; and before he returned to Afton he had written the mission
board that he would postpone his going out for a year, and had closed
an engagement with the church as its pastor for the same length of time.
When he told Daisy, she gravely shook her head. "I'm afraid, Ray, you
have made a mistake," she said; "but, of course, in such a question as
this, the final decision must always rest with you. It will take me
some time to get ready for our marriage, with my other duties; then,
too, we must see if mother can safely be moved as far as Easton. There
is another thing we should think of also. If we are married, and then
I could not go out with you in a year, what will you do? It will be
infinitely harder for us to separate then: perhaps you would have to
give up your plan altogether. Would it not be better to wait, and leave
yourself at liberty to go alone another year, if my duty keeps me here?
Don't think I am hesitating on my own account, Ray, about being your
wife," she added, noticing his annoyed look. "It is because I love you
so that I want in no way to embarrass you in your chosen work. Look
well at every side of this question, and if you still feel it is the
wisest course to take, I shall not delay our marriage a moment."
Throwing his arm around her, Ray drew her down beside him on the
nearest sofa.
"Go on, as your other duties may permit, my darling, in your
preparations for our marriage," he gravely said; "and the first moment
it seems wisest to have the ceremony performed, we will have it done.
It may come soon, and at brief notice; it may be long in the coming:
but we will be ready for it at any hour.
"Meantime, I confess I shall find satisfaction in the fact that you
are not far away, and we can see each other often," she responded,
smilingly.
Ray believed that he was thoroughly consecrated to his work at Easton.
He certainly never worked harder, nor prayed more fervently for God's
blessing on his labors; but month after month passed, and not the
slightest fruit appeared. Ray grew discouraged. He began to feel he
had made a mistake in accepting his pastorate. Had he not, indeed,
made his first mistake in not going to the foreign field? Had not his
course been based upon a doubt of God? If he had only trusted God and
gone forward, might not God have made it perfectly possible for Daisy
to have gone with him? Had he not put Daisy first and God second? and
was not his toil fruitless because God would not consent to any such
arrangement? He opened his Bible and read the story of Jonah. "He was
troubled until he went back to his duty, and took up his appointed
work." He commented: "Shall it be so with me?" As if in answer to his
question the door bell rang sharply. A moment later a telegram was
handed into his study. With trembling hand he tore open the envelope.
It grew so dark around him he could scarcely read the single line
written on the enclosed page:
Come at once. Daisy is sick--perhaps dying.
EDWARD.
A train left in fifteen minutes. Mechanically he made his preparations,
was driven to the station, and swung on to the last car of the already
moving train. How slowly it went!--would Daisy be living when he
arrived?
"Oh, God! not this blow--not this blow!" he repeated over and over
again.
"Afton!" finally the brakeman called.
He arose as one in a dream and staggered out to the platform. Harry
Gasque met him. Neither Edward nor Dr. Gasque had come--was this a
harbinger of evil or good?
"Harry," he gasped, "is she living?" He did not know his own voice, it
was so unnatural in its huskiness.
"Yes," Harry answered, as he helped Ray into the waiting carriage,
"Father and Edward and Dr. Platt and Dr. Blanding of this city, are in
consultation now, so I came for you."
The great Dr. Blanding had been summoned then. The case must be
critical. Yet only three days before he had heard from Daisy, and she
was well.
"What is the disease?" he steadied his voice to ask.
"Typhoid pneumonia," his companion briefly answered.
They reached the house. Edward met him at the door.
"Calm yourself, Ray," he said, soothingly. "She is calling piteously
for you, and for her sake you must be calm."
"For her sake!" Edward could not have used wiser words. By a mighty
effort Ray gained control of himself. He was very pale, but outwardly
calm, as he entered the sick room. He bent over the sufferer, fair and
beautiful even in her delirium, and never so inexpressibly dear to him
as now.
"Daisy, I have come," he said, gently.
"I am so glad," she answered, with a deep sigh, and dropped off into a
quiet slumber.
Hour after hour Ray sat there, and day after day. At times Daisy was
herself, and conversed understandingly with him. At other times she was
in a wild delirium, and talked incessantly of what she called Ray's
mistake, and now God would bless him no more. She would plead with him
to be true to duty; again she would beg him piteously not to leave her.
From the outset the doctors had given but little hopes of her recovery.
Every effort to reduce the extreme temperature had been unavailing,
and each day she grew weaker. One Sunday morning she came out from a
prolonged stupor very feeble, but perfectly rational. She smiled at
Ray, and said, with deep pathos that brought tears to his eyes:
"Poor boy! you are having a long and weary watch; but it will soon be
over. I have loved you so, and have been so anxious to work by your
side. But not my will, but his will, be done! Promise me, Ray, you will
take up your chosen work when I am gone, and carry it on faithfully to
life's end. If Jesus is willing, I shall be near you, after all. Better
this than a living separation."
He controlled himself as best he could, and gave her the desired
promise; and when, a few moments later, she sank into a stupor again,
he left her in Edward's care, and went across the hall to his own room.
Kneeling by the bedside, he began a prayer of most humble confession.
He acknowledged his mistake. He admitted that Daisy had been the idol
of his soul, and that in his plans and in his work he had thought first
of her.
"O Lord," he cried, "it is not necessary that thou shouldst remove her,
for me to know and do my duty. Thy will is above my will. I surrender
all, even her, to thee. Forgive my sin. Restore to me thy favor and thy
power. I will obey thy call. Nay, Lord, her life and her death are in
thy hands. What is for thy glory, that wilt thou do."
Over and over he prayed. Hour after hour passed. Not until he felt a
peace he long had not known; not until the assurance had come to him
that Daisy would be spared, did he arise from his knees.
It was night when he again sought Daisy's room. Dr. Gasque and Edward
looked up at him in astonishment as he entered, for his hair was
sprinkled with gray, and he looked ten years older than when he left
the room only a few hours before.
"How is she, Dr. Gasque?" he asked, with a smile, the first they had
seen upon his lips since his arrival.
"Her temperature has gone down two degrees, and she rests quietly," he
replied. "Really, if it were possible, I should think she was better."
"She will live. God has promised it," Ray responded, with the old
confident, positive tone he was accustomed to use in religious things.
Again the two watchers by the bedside looked at him; and Ray, utterly
unaware of the change in his appearance, gave them an assuring smile.
"I have seen God face to face," he said, with tones of awe, "and yet I
have lived. Praise his holy name."
"If she lives," responded Dr. Gasque, reverently, "I shall have no
hesitancy in declaring that 'the prayer of faith shall save the sick.'"
All night those three watched by the fair sufferer's side. At dawn she
awoke.
"Dr. Gasque, Edward, and Ray--all here by me," she said, feebly. Then
to Ray: "Darling, I have had such a sweet dream; Jesus came himself
to me, and said: 'It is enough; thou shalt live'; and really I feel
stronger and better. I know you have prayed for me, and God has heard
your prayer."
Dr. Gasque had been feeling her pulse, and now passed his hand over her
brow. "Be perfectly quiet, Miss Daisy," he said; "you are better." To
Edward and Ray he added, as they followed him into the hall way, "She
will live."
Edward with a light heart returned to the sick chamber, but Ray
crossed the hall and entered his room. Throwing himself on his bed for
a much-needed rest, he repeated over and over, in tones of deepest
gratitude and love, "O God, thy will shall be done. Thy will shall be
done."