The Following of the Star Part 15

"My G.o.d," he prayed, "give me light. Ah, give me a clear unmistakable revelation of Thy will!"

The hours from one to two, and from two to three, are apt to hold especial terrors for troubled souls--for lonely watchers, keeping vigil.

This is the time of earth's completest silence, and the sense of the nearness of the spirit-world seems able to make itself more intimately felt.

The cheerful c.o.c.k has not yet bestirred himself to crow; the dawn has made no rift in the heavy blackness of the sky.

The Prince of Darkness invades the world, unhindered. The Hosts of Light stand by, with folded wings; their glittering swords close sheathed. "This is your hour, and the hour of darkness." Murder, robbery, l.u.s.t, and every form of sin, lift their heads, unafraid.

Christian souls, waking, shudder in nameless fear; then whisper:

"Keep me, O keep me, King of Kings, Beneath Thine Own almighty wings!"

and sleep again, in peace.

Next comes the coldest hour--the hour before the dawn. This is the hour of pa.s.sing souls. Death, drawing near, enters unchecked; and, ere the day breaks and busy life begins to stir again, the souls he has come to fetch, pa.s.s out with him; and weary watchers close the eyes which will never see another sunrising, and fold the hands whose day's work in the world is over.

All life, in this hour, is at its lowest ebb.

From one to two, David prayed: "Give me light! Oh, my G.o.d, give me light!"

Evil thoughts, satanic suggestions, diabolic whisperings, swarmed around him, but failed to force an entrance into the guarded garrison of his mind.

The clock struck two.

The study lamp grew dim, flickered spasmodically; and, finally, went out. David reached for matches, and lighted one candle on the table at his elbow.

He saw his Prayer-book on the floor, picked it up, and glanced at the open page. "Forasmuch as it hath pleased Almighty G.o.d of His great mercy to take unto Himself the soul of our dear brother here departed, we therefore commit his body to the ground----"

David smiled. It seemed so simple a solution to all earthly difficulties:--"we therefore commit his body to the ground." It promised peace at the last.

Who would read those words, over the forest grave in Central Africa?

Would he be borne, feet foremost, down the aisle of the Church of the Holy Star--his church and Diana's--or would he be carried straight from his own hut to the open grave beneath the mighty trees? It would not matter at all to his wasted body, which it was; but, ah, how much it would matter to the people he left behind!

"Oh G.o.d, give me light--give me light!"

The clock struck three.

The study grate was black. The last red ember had burned itself out.

David shuddered. He was too completely lost to outward things to be conscious of the cold; but he shuddered in unison with the many pa.s.sing souls.

Then a sense of peace stole over his spirit. He lifted his head from his hands, leaned back in the Rector's armchair, and fell into a light sleep. He was completely exhausted, in mind and body.

"Send me light, my Lord," he murmured for the last time; and fell asleep.

He did not hear the clock strike four; but, a few moments later, he was awakened by a voice in the silent room, saying, slowly and distinctly, in tones of sublime tenderness: "Son of man!"

David, instantly wide awake, started up, and sat listening. The solitary candle failed to illumine the distant corners of the study, but was reflected several times in the gla.s.s doors of the book-cases.

David pushed back his tumbled hair. "Speak again," he said, in tones of awe and wonder. Then, as his own voice broke the silence, he realised that the voice which had waked him had not stirred the waves of outward sound, but had vibrated on the atmosphere of his inner spirit-chamber, reaching, with intense distinctness, the hearing of his soul. He lay back, and closed his eyes.

"Son of man!" said the voice again.

This time David did not stir. He listened in calm intentness.

"Son of man," said the low tender tones again; "behold, I take away from thee the desire of thine eyes with a stroke."

Then David knew where he was. He sat up, eagerly; drew the candle close to him; took out his pocket-Bible; and, turning to the twenty-fourth chapter of Ezekiel, read the whole pa.s.sage.

"Son of man, behold, I take away from thee the desire of thine eyes with a stroke: yet neither shalt thou mourn nor weep, neither shall thy tears run down. Forbear to cry, make no mourning for the dead, bind the tire of thine head upon thee, and put on thy shoes upon thy feet, and cover not thy lips, and eat not the bread of men.

"So I spake unto the people in the morning; and at even my wife died: and I did in the morning as I was commanded.

"And the people said unto me: Wilt thou not tell us what these things are to us, that thou doest so? Then I answered them, The word of the Lord came unto me saying: Speak unto the house of Israel: Thus saith the Lord G.o.d:... Ezekiel is unto you a sign: according to all that he hath done, shall ye do; and when this cometh, ye shall know that I am the Lord.

"Also, thou son of man, shall it not be in the day when I take from them their strength, the joy of their glory, the desire of their eyes, and that whereupon they set their minds.... In that day shall thy mouth be opened,... and thou shalt speak ... and thou shalt be a sign unto them; and they shall know that I am the Lord."

As David read this most touching of all Old Testament stories, his mind was absorbed at first in the tragedy of the simply told, yet vivid picture. The young prophet, standing faithfully at his post, preaching to a stiff-necked, hard-hearted people, though knowing, all the while, how rapidly the shadow of a great sorrow was drawing near unto his own heart and home. The Desire of his eyes--how tenderly that described the young wife who lay dying at home. He who knoweth the hearts of men, knew she was just that to him. Each moment of that ebbing life was precious; yet the young preacher must remain and preach; he must yield to no anguish of anxiety; he must show no sign of woe. Throughout that long hard day, he stood the test. And then--in the grand unvarnished simplicity of Old Testament tragedy--he records quite simply: "And, at even, my wife died; and I did in the morning, as I was commanded." A veil is drawn over the night of anguish, but--"I did in the morning, as I was commanded."

David, as he read, felt his soul attune with the soul of that young prophet of long ago. He also had had a long night of conflict and of vigil. He, also, would do in the morning as he was commanded.

Then, suddenly--suddenly--he saw light!

Here was a marriage tie, close, tender, perfect; broken, apparently for no reason which concerned the couple themselves, for nothing connected with the causes for which matrimony was ordained; broken simply for the sake of others; solely in order that the preacher might himself be the text of his own sermon; standing before the people, bereaved, yet not mourning; stricken suddenly, all unprepared--in order that he might be a living sign to all men who should see and question, of Jehovah's dealings with themselves.

David's mind, accustomed to reason by induction, especially on theological points, grasped this at once: that if the marriage tie could be _broken_ by G.o.d's direction, for purposes of influence, and for the sake of bringing good to others, it might equally be _formed_ for the same reasons--unselfish, pure, idealistic--without the man and the woman, who for these causes entered into the tie, finding themselves, in so doing, outside the Will or the Word of G.o.d.

From that moment David never doubted that he might agree to Diana's proposal.

To many minds would have come the suggestion that the 20th century differed from ancient times; that the circ.u.mstances of the prophet Ezekiel were probably dissimilar, in all essentials, to his own. But David had all his life lived very simply by Bible rules. The revealed Will of G.o.d seemed to him to hold good through all the centuries, and to apply to all circ.u.mstances, in all times. His case and Diana's was unique; and this one instance which, to him, seemed clearly applicable, at once contented him.

He laid his open Bible beside the candle on the table.

"I shall say 'Yes,'" he said, aloud. "How pleased she will be." He could see her face, radiant in its fair beauty.