CHAPTER XLVIII
DOCTOR ARTEN STRUCK BY LIGHTNING
Hastening down into the body of the church, Dennis and Christine foundMrs. Leonard lying on some cushions in a pew. She was scantily clad,her sweet face scorched and blackened, and her beautiful hair almostcrisped away.
Her husband was bending over her in an agony of mingled grief and joy.She had just been brought in from wandering aimlessly and alone quiteout upon the prairie, singing in a low, plaintive way to herself wordssuggested by the sudden disaster that had temporarily robbed her ofhusband, of reason, and almost of life.
Dennis afterward learned from Professor Leonard that when first arousedthey had escaped from the hotel, but, not realizing the danger, he hadstepped back a moment at her request to get something she valued verymuch, and they had become separated.
"And thus at last I find the poor child," he cried, with a look ofagony.
Mrs. Leonard did not know any of them, but continued her low, plaintivesinging.
Dr. Arten, who had found his way to the church as one of the centres,was soon in attendance, his benevolent face becoming the very embodimentof pity. The crowd were pushed back, and with other kind ladiesChristine took charge of her poor unconscious friend, and all was donethat skill and tender love could suggest. At last, under the doctor'sopiates, her low, weird singing ceased, and she slept, her husbandholding her hand. The thronging fugitives were kept a little away, andDr. Arten slept near, to be within call.
A lady asked Christine to go home with her, but she thanked her andsaid, "No, I would rather remain in the church near my friends."
Dennis saw that she was greatly wearied. Taking her hand, he said:"Miss Ludolph, it is my turn to take care of you again. See, our friendsare preparing a place there for the ladies to sleep. Please go to restat once, for you do indeed need it."
"I am very tired, but I know I could not sleep. How strange this lifeis! All day, the world, in spite of what has happened, seemed growingbrighter. Now with the night has come the deeper darkness of sorrow.On every side pain and suffering seem to predominate, and to me therewill ever be so much mystery in events like my father's death and myfriend Susie's experience, that I know it will be hard to maintain achildlike faith."
"God will help you to trust; you will not be left to struggle alone.Then remember you are His child, and earthly parents do much thatlittle children cannot understand."
With a faint smile she answered: "I fear I shall be one of thosetroublesome children that are ever asking why. All day it has seemedso easy to be a Christian, but already I learn that there will be timeswhen I shall have to cling to my Saviour, instead of being carriedforward in His arms. Indeed, I almost fear that I shall lose Him inthe darkness."
"But He will not lose you," replied Dennis. "Since you are not sleepy,let me tell you a short Bible story."
"Oh, do, please do, just as if I were a little child."
"It is in the New Testament. Jesus had sent His disciples in a boatacross the sea of Galilee, while He should go up alone on a mountainto pray. The night came, and with it a storm swept down against thedisciples. The smooth sea was lashed into great foam-crested waveswhich broke over their little ship. They tugged hour after hour atthe oars, but in vain. The night grew darker, the wind more contrary,the waves higher and more threatening, their arms wearied, and theymay have feared that they would perish alone and without remedy in theblack midnight. But we read that 'He saw them toiling in rowing,'though they knew it not. From the distant mountain side 'He sawthem'--marked every weary stroke of the oar, and every throb of fear.But at last, when they were most ready to welcome Him, when none couldsay, 'We should have rowed through the storm alone,' He came to themwalking safely on the dark waves that threatened them with death, andsaid, 'Be of good cheer, it is I; be not afraid.' Then they gladlyreceived Him into the ship, and immediately the rough waves were hushed,and the keel of the boat grated on the beach toward which they hadvainly rowed. Then they that were in the ship came and worshipped Him,saying, 'Of a truth thou art the Son of God.'
"Now it was on the evening of that very night that these same discipleshad engaged in a scene of festivity. They had stood in the sunset onthe mountain slope, and seen their Lord feed many thousand. Then allwas peace, safety, and good cheer. Life changed as quickly for themas for you, but did not their Divine Master see them as truly in thestormy night as in the sunlight? Did He leave them to perish?
"He is watching you, Miss Ludolph, for He is ever the same; and beforethis stormy night of your sorrow passes away you will hear His voice,saying, 'Be of good cheer, it is I; be not afraid.'"
"Already I hear it," she said, in a low, glad voice, smiling throughher tears. "I can, I do trust Him, and the conflicting winds of doubtand fear are becoming still. Among all these homeless people theremust be many sad, discouraged hearts. You have helped me so much; canyou not say a word or sing something that will help them?"
Dennis thought a moment, and then, in a sweet, clear voice thatpenetrated every part of the large building, sang:
"Father in Heaven, the night is around us, Terror and danger our portion have been; We cry unto Thee, oh, save and defend us, Comfort the trembling, and pardon our sin.
"Hearts that are heavy, look onward and upward; Though wild was the storm that wrecked your loved homes, Faith lifts your sad glances hopefully heavenward, To mansions prepared with glory-crowned domes.
"Hearts that are breaking, whose lov'd ones have vanished, Swept down in the seething ocean of fire, E'en now they may rest where pain is all banished, And join their glad songs with the heavenly choir.
"Hearts that are groaning with life's weary burden, Who fear to go forward, to sorrow a prey; Jesus invites you--'Oh, come, heavy laden'; Leave sin at His feet, bear mercy away."
After the first line there was a breathless hush; but, when he closed,low sobbings might be heard from many of the women, and in the dimlight not a few tears shone in the eyes of manhood. Dennis's voice wassympathetic in its character, and he had the power of throwing intoit much feeling.
Christine was weeping quietly, but her tears now were like the warmspring rain as it falls on the precious seed. At last she said, "Youhave done these people much good."
"To you belongs all the credit, for it was at your suggestion I sang."
She shook her head, and then said, "Good-night, my friend, I shallnever forget this day with its mingled experience; but I think, I hope,I shall never doubt God again;" and she went to her rest.
The light of the next day brought to view many hard realities, andchief among these was the bread question. Dennis was up with the dawn,and by eager inquiries sought to comprehend the situation. Some weregloomy and discouraged, some apathetic, and some determined, courageous,and hopeful; and to this last class he belonged.
Most thankful that he had come out of the fiery ordeal unscathed, heresolved to contribute his quota toward a new and better Chicago.Young, and sanguine in temperament, he already saw the city rise fromits ashes in statelier proportions and richer prosperity. With a thrillof exultation he heard the report that some Napoleonic business menhad already telegraphed for building material, and were even nowexcavating the hot ruins.
Christine had hardly joined him as he stood at the door when a gentlemanentered and asked, "Who here are willing and able to work for fairwages?"
"I am at your service," said Dennis, stepping forward promptly.
"You are a gentleman, sir," said the speaker, impressed with the factby Dennis's bearing, though his hat and coat were gone; "I need laborerswho can handle the pick and shovel."
"I will work for less, then, till I can handle these tools as well asa laborer. There is no reason why I should eat the bread of charitya day longer, especially when so many need it more than I."
"I said you were a gentleman; I now say you are a man, and that to memeans a great deal more," said the energetic stranger. "You shall havetwo d
ollars a day with the rest."
He turned to Christine and said, almost proudly, "The supper you haveto-night shall be yours also."
"That is," she replied, with a smile, "I shall live on your charityinstead of that of some one else."
His face grew sad at once, but he answered, as he went away, "I couldnot give you charity, Miss Ludolph."
Christine saw that she had pained him, and was much vexed with herself.But his remark added to the hope and almost belief that she still heldher old place in his heart, and she resolved to make amends in theevening for her unlucky speech.
With a smile she said to herself: "If he only knew that I would preferthe coarsest, scantiest fare provided by him to the most costly banquet,he would not have gone away with that long face. How rich life wouldbe if I could commence it with him, and we struggle up together! Oh,Heaven, grant," she sighed, looking earnestly upward, "that throughthese wonderful, terrible changes, I may climb the mountain at hisside, as he so graphically portrayed it in his picture!"
Mrs. Leonard still slept, and her husband in an agony of anxiety watchedat her side. At last, a little before midday, she opened her eyes andsaid, in her natural tone: "Why, John, I must have greatly overslept.Where am I?" and then, as her husband fairly sobbed for joy, she startedup and said, hurriedly: "What is the matter? What has happened?"
"Oh, be calm!" whispered Christine to the professor. "Everything dependson keeping her quiet." Then she bent over her friend, and said: "Donot be alarmed, Susie; you are now safe and well, and so is yourhusband. But you have been ill, and for his sake and your own you mustkeep quiet."
She turned inquiringly to her husband, who said, more calmly, "It isall true, and if you can only be careful we can go back to Boston aswell as ever."
"I will do anything you say, John; but why am I in a church?"
"You were taken sick in the street, and this was the nearest place tobring you."
"Oh, dear! I have had such strange, dreadful dreams. I am so glad theywere only dreams, and you are here with me;" and she lay quietly holdingher husband's hands and looking contentedly in his face. It was evidentshe was herself again, and much better.
Dr. Arten soon after came and said, cheerily, "All right! all right!will have you out in a day or two as good as new, and then, MissLudolph, you will see how much more grateful she is to the old doctorthan you were."
"You must present your bill," replied Christine, with a smile.
"May I?" retorted the doctor, wiping his lips.
"Oh, I don't know about that," cried Christine; adding, quickly, "whenI welcome you to my own home you may."
"An old maid's hall, I suppose."
"It will be an orphan's home, at least," said Christine, softly andsadly.
Tears filled the old man's eyes, and putting his arm around her hedrew her to him, saying, as he stroked her drooping head: "Poor child!poor child! I did not know. But you shall never want a protector whilethe old doctor is above ground. As far as possible I will be a fatherto you;" and Christine knew she had found a friend as true and strongas steel, and she buried her face on his shoulder and cried astrustingly as his own child might have done.
"Oh, Christine!" cried Mrs. Leonard, "I am so sorry for you!"
At the voice of her old friend she at once rallied, and, trying tosmile through her tears, said, "God has been so much better to me thanI deserved that I have only gratitude when I think of myself; but mypoor father--" and again she covered her face and wept.
"Christine, come here," said Mrs. Leonard, softly, and she put herarms around the weeping girl. "You spoke of God's being good to you.Have you in truth found and learned to trust Him?"
"Yes," she replied, eagerly, joy and peace coming out in her face likethe sun shining through clouds and rain. Then with bowed head shewhispered low: "The one I wronged on earth led me to the One I wrongedin heaven, and both have forgiven me. Oh, I am so glad, so happy!"
"Then you have seen Mr. Fleet."
"Yes, he saved my life again and again, but in teaching me how to findmy Saviour, he has done far more for me."
"And you will not wrong him any more, will you, Christine? He has lovedyou so long and faithfully."
In reply she lifted an eager face to her friend and said, "Do you thinkhe can love me still after my treatment of him?"
"Give him a chance to tell you," said Mrs. Leonard, with ahalf-mischievous smile. "Has he not shown his feelings?"
"He has treated me more as a brother might have done, and yet he isso very respectful and deferential--I hope--but I am not perfectlysure--and then he seems under some restraint."
Mrs. Leonard said, musingly: "He knows that you are Baroness Ludolph.I told him last week, for I thought he ought to know, and the fact ofyour approaching departure for Europe has been no secret of late. Hethinks you are pledged to a future in which he cannot share; and inyour grateful, dependent condition he would not cause you the pain ofrefusing him. I think that is just where he stands," she concluded,with a woman's mastery of the science of love, and taking almost asmuch interest in her friend's affair as she had felt in her own. Tomost ladies this subject has a peculiar fascination, and, having settledtheir own matters, they enter with scarcely less zest on the task ofhelping others arrange theirs. Mrs. Leonard rallied faster under theexcitement of this new interest than from the doctor's remedies.
After a few moments' thought Christine said, decidedly: "All thatnonsense about the Baroness Ludolph is past forever--burned up in thefire with many things of more value. I have been fed too long on thehusks of human greatness and ambition to want any more of them. Theynever did satisfy me, and in the light and heat of the terrific ordealthrough which I have just passed they shrivelled into utter nothingness.I want something that I cannot lose in a whiff of smoke and flame, andI think I have found it. Henceforth I claim no other character thanthat of a simple Christian girl." Then bowing her head on her friend'sshoulder she added, in a whisper, "If I could climb to true greatnessby Mr. Fleet's side, as he portrayed it in his picture, it seems tome heaven would begin at once."
The doctor, who had taken the professor aside, now joined them, andsaid: "Mrs. Leonard, you have only to take reasonable care of yourself,and you will soon recover from this shock and exposure. I wish all mypatients were doing as well."
She replied with a smile, taking her husband's hand: "Since I havefound my old Greek here, with his learned spectacles, I am quite myself,and I feel as if I were only playing invalid."
"You may have slept in a church before," said the doctor, with a twinklein his eye, "and you must do so again. But no one will thunder at youfrom the pulpit this time, so I leave you in peace and security, andto-night will be within call."
Christine followed him to the lobby of the church, when theirrepressible joker could not forbear saying: "Now let me give you alittle paternal advice. Don't be too grateful to that young Fleet. Heonly did his duty, and of course doesn't deserve any special--"
Christine, with flushing cheeks, interrupted him as if she had notheard: "Doctor, how good and kind you are! Here you are off withoutany rest to look after the sick and suffering, and you seem to bringhealth and hope wherever you go."
"Yes, yes; but I send my bill in too--mind that." (Some of his poorerpatients never received any, and he, when twitted of the fact, wouldmutter, roughly, "Business oversight--can't attend to everything.")
Christine looked for a moment at the face so inspiring in its heartybenevolence, and with an impulse, so unlike the cold, haughty girl ofold, sprang forward, threw her arms around his neck, and gave him akiss which he declared afterward was like a mild stroke of lightning,and said, "And there is the first instalment of what I owe you."
The old gentleman looked as if he decidedly liked the currency, andwith moistened eyes that he vainly tried to render humorous, he raisedhis finger impressively in parting, and said, "Don't you ever get outof debt to me."
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