When Margaret got back to her hospital, she found no time for psychic
reflections, for news had come that a fresh consignment of patients was
to arrive at the hospital the next morning, and as the number was
considerably more than they had expected, or the wards had beds for, it
meant that the staff, from the humblest to the highest in command, had
plenty of extra work to do.
She did a hundred and one odd jobs which kept her busy until nine
o'clock. A V.A.D. whose duty it was to run the lift was ill; she had had
to go home, so Margaret took her place until a girl-scout appeared, who
was a sister of one of the staff-nurses. The proud girl-scout became
lift-boy in her after-school-hours and kept the post until the V.A.D. was
well enough to resume her work. During the day the V.A.D.s filled the
post between them, taking it in turn.
It was not until all her work was done, and Margaret was alone in her
bedroom, with its air of ghostly fashion, that she found it increasingly
difficult to drive the incident of the automatic writing from her mind.
She did not wish to think of it because of her promise to Freddy. While
she had been busy it had never entered her head. Certainly Satan finds
some mischief for idle thoughts as well as for idle hands to do. But was
it Satan who had sent these thoughts? Was she dabbling in black or in
white magic?
She wondered whether, if she looked at the writing once more, and thought
over every incident of the strange occurrence which had happened to her,
very clearly and thoroughly, it would help her to drive it from her mind,
in the same way as saying some haunting lines of a poem over and over
again will often drown their insistence in our ears. Certainly she must
make an effort to free herself from the obsession of the incident. It
was unnerving her.
She took the sheet of paper out of her note-case and read the writing on
it aloud, very distinctly and slowly. She said the words thoughtfully,
so as to get their precise value. As she read them, she tried her utmost
to subdue the increasing nervousness which they produced, a nervousness
which she certainly had not in any way experienced when her hand had
hurriedly written down the words.
As she read them aloud, she realized with a sudden and astounding
clearness their true meaning, which had either escaped her intelligence,
or she had been too astonished and interested in her own action to
appreciate before. Her first feeling had been one of amazement and
interest; now she felt quite convinced that the message had been sent to
her to tell her that Michael was at the Front, that she was not to
trouble or be afraid, for his safety was in divine hands.
How much or how little her super-senses had understood this fact she
could not be certain. Her over-self was an independent factor. Her
natural consciousness had certainly not appreciated the news. She had
never said the fact to herself, or derived any comfort from it, or
questioned it. She had been too overwhelmed by the practical evidence
that she was once more in touch with her vision to grasp the real purpose
of the message. Its value had been lost upon her, even though it had
told her that Michael was fighting, that he was in the war. But was he?
That was the question which her natural mind forced upon her. She must
take it on faith or reject the whole thing as a fabrication of her own
brain.
The writing had told her that the Light of Aton would guard him, that the
rays of Aton, which were God's symbol on earth, would encompass him and
confound his enemies. To the reasoning, practical Margaret it seemed
incredible nonsense, and yet Egypt had taught her that nothing is
incredible. She had thought of many solutions of the problem of
Michael's disappearance, many answers to her riddle of the sands, but she
had, to her conscious knowledge, never once imagined that he would be
taking part in this most horrible of all wars. Knowing his views upon
the subject of war, the possibility had never entered her mind that he
might have volunteered to fight in it. He had said over and over again
that Germany's desire for war was a myth, a mere mania which obsessed a
certain class of mind; that if such a thing happened it would be the
death-blow to the spread of Christianity, and rightly so, for a religion
which had done no more for the most scientifically-advanced race in the
world was not likely to be adopted by non-Christian races.
And yet the hand had written words which could have no other meaning.
She had no friends or relations at the Front. Her first cousins were all
too young, and their fathers too old, to fight. Freddy had represented
her personal and intimate interest in the army at the Front.
She read the words over and over again, until she knew them by heart,
until the strange handwriting which her own pencil had formed had become
familiar to her. She knew that she could never have written the words
except by some outside power. But what was that power? Had anyone else
ever experienced it? Was it known to Spiritualists?
As she asked herself the question, a picture formed itself in her mind of
Daniel interpreting "the writing on the wall" to the guests at the feast
of Belshazzar. She saw the hand write the three words: _Numbered,
weighed, divided_. She saw the wonder of the King and the curiosity of
his friends. God only, who sent the omen, explained it, and all which
Daniel under His direction uttered, explaining it, was fulfilled.
Egypt had reconstructed in Margaret's mind the proper proportion of time
as applied to the history and evolution of the world's civilization. The
deeds and the victories of Cyrus, the grandson of Nebuchadnezzar, were
not mythical deeds because they belonged to a mythical and lost age. In
Egypt they had seemed to her legends of a comparatively late date.
Darius, the Mede, to whom Biblical authority awards the succession of the
kingdom of the vanquished and slain Belshazzar, was removed by almost a
thousand years from the world which had known the gentle King, the
youthful Pharaoh, who loved not war, and whose God was the Prince of
Peace.
As compared to Michael's beloved Akhnaton Belshazzar was a mere modern.
Almost one thousand years before the impious King had reigned over
Babylon Akhnaton had told the Egyptian people of the unspeakable goodness
and loving-kindness of God, he had preached a religion which was to
abolish all wars, which was to unite all nations under the banner of
universal brotherhood.
The Biblical handwriting on the wall had come into her thoughts for a
good purpose. The vision of it had been sent to prove to her that such
things had happened in the world before, and that there was no reason to
believe that they had not often happened since. God works in a
mysterious way, His wonders to perform.
Her fight against her desire to believe had been solely on Freddy's
account. He had so intensely disliked her interest in occultism that for
his sake she had struggled faithfully to subdue it. Now she knew that
she could no longer ignore the influence which had entered into her life
in this strange manner, not understood by her material self. She
possessed powers and qualities which with all her heart she wished that
she did not possess. She dreaded this last evidence of the mysterious
power which had made her very actions subservient to its will.
Yet even as she said the words she was ashamed. If the message had any
connection with the figure in her vision, how could she hate it?
Instantly the tragic eyes, glowing with the light of divine love, were
before her; their reproach and pity made her blush, for in denying her
belief in things spiritual, she was surely denying the power of the Holy
Spirit in just the same way as Peter had denied and mocked at Jesus for
His assumption of divinity.
Believing, with the intuition of her higher self, with her divine mind,
whose reasoning powers were in heaven, like the desert child of God--for
so the everyday world would say of her if they had known--in the
spiritual source of the amazing message, she ceased to question the why
or the wherefore of it. She could not treat it as the mere creation of
her own overwrought imagination, and yet she would be true to Freddy in
the sense that she would do absolutely nothing to get into closer touch
with the world behind the veil. She would make no effort to develop her
powers.
On that point her conscience was absolutely clear. She had been loyal
and true to Freddy; she had left all occultism and mysticism severely
alone. And surely never in the world had her mind been farther separated
from things Egyptian or occult than on this afternoon, when she had
suddenly felt her hand begin to write of its own free will? Of all
people in the world, her Aunt Anna was the last who would call up any
suggestion of her vision in the Valley, and Freddy would agree that a
Lyons' tea-room was amazingly unsuited for such an experience.
She puzzled her brain to find out any reason why this message should have
been sent to her at this particular time, why Michael had been thrust so
vividly into her life again. Her pride had driven him from her mind
until he had at last actually lost his place in her daily thoughts. It
would be impossible now not to think of him; she was thinking of him with
a beautiful rebirth of her first romantic love.
* * * * * *
Was he, with all his horror of bloodshed and war, in the trenches while
she was snug and sleeping in her bed at night? were some mangled and
unrecognizable fragments of his body lying on the battle-fields of
Flanders? Or, sadder than all, had he, like Freddy, never been in
action? Had his life also been a useless sacrifice?
As she asked herself the question, the bright rays of Aton shone round a
figure in khaki; she saw Michael clearly and beautifully. He was
illuminated by a bright and shining light. Margaret remained motionless
and spell-bound. Her visualizing was more than a mere mental
reproduction of an imaginary scene. The bright light which surrounded
Michael revealed to her how instantly his enemies would quail before him,
how terrified and amazed they would be!
In an ecstasy of wonder and surprise Margaret called to him. Her voice
broke the spell; her eyes saw nothing, nothing but the shadows and the
half-lights shed by her inadequate gas-jet in the large room.
She fell on her knees beside her bed. She must get closer to God, she
must feel Him, for there was no human being in whom she could confide.
She was terribly alone; her body hungered for arms of sympathy, her mind
for understanding ears. The lonely and love-starved will know how she
craved to be gathered up and comforted; how she longed to throw off her
self-reliance, to let it be lost in a strength which would make her feel
like a little child in a giant's arms. As only God knows what is in our
hearts, only God understood her unspoken prayer. He was not shocked by
its pitiful humanity. That night He permitted the tired V.A.D. to sleep
in the strength of His everlasting arms.