UNDER THE MORNING STAR
The night wore on.
Stars shone in the deep purple sky; bright watchful eyes looking down
unwearied upon the sleeping world.
The sound of the sea below fell from a roar to a murmur, and drew away
into the distance.
It was a warm June night, and very still.
Jim Airth had moved along the ledge to the further end, and sat swinging
his legs over the edge. His content was so deep and full, that ordinary
speech seemed impossible; and silence, a glad necessity. The prospect of
that which the future might hold in store, made the ledge too narrow to
contain him. He sought relief in motion, and swung his long legs out into
the darkness.
It had not occurred to him to wonder at his companion's silence; the
reason for his own had been so all-sufficient.
At length he struck a match to see the time; then, turning with a smile,
held it so that its light illumined Myra.
She knelt upon the ledge, her hands pressed against the overhanging
cliff, her head turned in terror away from it. Her face was ashen in its
whiteness, and large tears rolled down her cheeks.
Jim dropped the match, with an exclamation, and groped towards her in the
darkness.
"Dear!" he cried, "Oh, my dear, what is the matter? Selfish fool, that I
am! I thought you were just resting, quiet and content."
His groping hands found and held her.
"Oh, Jim," sobbed Lady Ingleby, "I am so sorry! It is so weak and
unworthy. But I am afraid I feel faint. The whole cliff seems to rock and
move. Every moment I fear it will tip me over. And you seemed miles
away!"
"You _are_ faint," said Jim Airth; "and no wonder. There is nothing weak
or unworthy about it. You have been quite splendid. It is I who have been
a thoughtless ass. But I can't have you fainting up here. You must lie
down at once. If I sit on the edge with my back to you, can you slip
along behind me and lie at full length, leaning against the cliff?"
"No, oh no, I couldn't!" whispered Myra. "It frightens me so horribly
when you hang your legs over the edge, and I can't bear to touch the
cliff. It seems worse than the black emptiness. It rocks to and fro, and
seems to push me over. Oh, Jim! What shall I do? Help me, help me!"
"You _must_ lie down," said Jim Airth, between his teeth. "Here, wait a
minute. Move out a little way. Don't be afraid. I have hold of you. Let
me get behind you.... That's right. Now you are not touching the cliff.
Let me get my shoulders firmly into the hollow at this end, and my feet
fixed at the other. There! With my back rammed into it like this, nothing
short of an earthquake could dislodge me. Now dear--turn your back to me
and your face to the sea and let yourself go. You will not fall over. Do
not be afraid."
Very gently, but very firmly, he drew her into his arms.
Tired, frightened, faint,--Lady Ingleby was conscious at first of nothing
save the intense relief of the sense of his great strength about her. She
seemed to have been fighting the cliff and resisting the gaping darkness,
until she was utterly worn out. Now she yielded to his gentle insistence,
and sank into safety. Her cheek rested against his rough coat, and it
seemed to her more soothing than the softest pillow. With a sigh of
content, she folded her hands upon her breast, and he laid one of his big
ones firmly over them both. She felt so safe, and held.
Then she heard Jim Airth's voice, close to her ear.
"We are not alone," he said. "You must try to sleep, dear; but first I
want you to realise that we are not alone. Do you know what I mean? _God
is here._ When I was a very little chap, I used to go to a Dame-school in
the Highlands; and the old dame made me learn by heart the hundred and
thirty-ninth psalm. I have repeated parts of it in all sorts of places of
difficulty and danger. I am going to say my favourite verses to you now.
Listen. 'Whither shall I go from Thy Spirit? or whither shall I flee from
Thy presence?... If I take the wings of the morning, and dwell in the
uttermost parts of the sea; even there shall Thy hand lead me, and Thy
right hand shall hold me. If I say, Surely the darkness shall cover me;
even the night shall be light about me. Yea, the darkness hideth not from
Thee; but the night shineth as the day: the darkness and the light are
both alike to Thee.... How precious also are Thy thoughts unto me, O God!
how great is the sum of them. If I should count them they are more in
number than the sand: when I awake I am still with Thee.'"
The deep voice ceased. Lady Ingleby opened her eyes. "I was nearly
asleep," she said. "How good you are, Jim."
"No, I am not good," he answered. "I'm a tough chap, full of faults, and
beset by failings. Only--if you will trust me, please God, I will never
fail you. But now I want you to sleep; and I don't want you to think
about me. I am merely a thing, which by God's providence is allowed to
keep you in safety. Do you see that wonderful planet, hanging like a lamp
in the sky? Watch it, while I tell you some lines written by an American
woman, on the thought of that last verse."
And with his cheek against her soft hair, and his strong arms firmly
round her, Jim Airth repeated, slowly, Mrs. Beecher Stowe's matchless
poem:
"Still, still with Thee, when purple morning breaketh,
When the bird waketh, and the shadows flee;
Fairer than morning, lovelier than daylight,
Dawns the sweet consciousness--I am with Thee.
"Alone with Thee, amid the mystic shadows,
The solemn hush of nature newly born;
Alone with Thee, in breathless adoration,
In the calm dew and freshness of the morn.
"As in the dawning, o'er the waveless ocean,
The image of the morning star doth rest;
So in this stillness Thou beholdest only
Thine image in the waters of my breast.
"When sinks the soul, subdued by toil, to slumber
Its closing eye looks up to Thee in prayer;
Sweet the repose, beneath Thy wings o'ershadowing,
But sweeter still to wake, and find Thee there.
"So shall it be at last, in that bright morning
When the soul waketh, and life's shadows flee;
Oh, in that hour, fairer than daylight's dawning,
Shall rise the glorious thought, I am with Thee!"
Jim Airth's voice ceased. He waited a moment in silence.
Then--"Do you like it?" he asked softly.
There was no answer. Myra slept as peacefully as a little child. He could
feel the regular motion of her quiet breathing, beneath his hand.
"Thank God!" said Jim Airth, with his eyes on the morning star.