There was the soft stir of garments as the family and house guests knelt. Greg, kneeling beside Margaret, gathered her hand in a close clasp and prayed in his own heart, “Oh Father, control this situation! Let it be according to Thy will.”
Grandfather began to pray as only one who knows the Lord intimately can pray, and he did not forget to include the strangers who had just come among them.
And those strangers who had come to make mockery sat there strangely stunned, their faces a study of fear mingled with scorn. But there was only one in the room who saw them, and that was Nurse Gowen. Not being much of a Christian herself, and being deeply astonished and curious about the strange, unworldly atmosphere by which she had found herself surrounded during the last few days, she felt herself privileged to pursue her investigations under all circumstances. Being a woman of keen perceptions and by reason of her calling skilled in judging humanity, she had immediately sensed the situation. Therefore, though she knelt with the rest for the prayer, she kept a calm, furtive eye open for observation and lost nothing. Through her long lashes, she saw the dull, stupid stare of Mortie as he watched the kneeling act, saw the little shudders of dislike and terror creep over the group, saw the blank, ghastly look on the face of the woman with the red lips who had called the host intimately by his first name. Saw her actually shiver and turn white beneath her rouge. Saw her look toward the door, measuring the distance like a hunted animal.
Nurse Gowen could not possibly know that there had been a day long ago in this woman’s girlhood when she had once been in a Sunday school class of girls and heard this story of the woman at the well fully explained. She could not know how the story with Rhoderick Steele’s clear comments cut deep into her own experience, laying bare a heart that was full of sin. She only saw the fear in her eyes, the look of a hunted animal at bay, saw her eyes rest upon the girl in white kneeling there so quietly, her hand in her husband’s, then saw a look of pain and jealousy writhe around her little red mouth. She saw her rise cautiously, tiptoe noiselessly from the room to the vestibule, and opening the front door silently, pass from view into the night. The others of her company, realizing one by one her absence, followed her, Mortie stupidly bringing up the rear and stumbling noisily over Jane Garrett’s meek, little foot that happened to be in his way. And so they all disappeared, and the prayer went on following them into the Christmas night, under the Christmas stars, drawing their minds inevitably to one other Christmas star of long ago and what it meant today.
But Mortie had failed to latch the door as he stumbled out, and they could all hear a hollow, empty, cheerful, little laugh ringing out on the cold air before Nurse Gowen, roused to her duty, went softly and gave the door a final closing. Even Grandfather must have heard that rowdy laughter, for he prayed more earnestly than ever for those lost spirits who had dropped in on their worship and slipped away into their own darkness again.
It was very still when they rose from that worship and stood thoughtfully together, and then Rhoderick Steele quoted solemnly: “When the enemy shall come in like a flood, the Spirit of the Lord shall lift up a standard against him.”
Later, when at last Greg and Margaret went to their own apartment, he gathered her into his arms tenderly and looked deep into her eyes: “And to think,” he said sorrowfully, “that I used to believe I cared for that girl! Oh, the Lord has been gracious to me to save me from her and to give you to me! My precious Christmas gift!”
GRACE LIVINGSTON HILL (1865–1947) is known as the pioneer of Christian romance. Grace wrote more than a hundred faith-inspired books during her lifetime. When her first husband died, leaving her with two daughters to raise, writing became a way to make a living, but she always recognized storytelling as a way to share her faith in God. She has touched countless lives through the years and continues to touch lives today. Her books feature moving stories, delightful characters, and love in its purest form.
Love Endures
Grace Livingston Hill Classics
Available in 2012
The Beloved Stranger
The Prodigal Girl
A New Name
Re-Creations
Tomorrow About This Time
Crimson Roses
Blue Ruin
Coming Through the Rye
The Christmas Bride
Ariel Custer
Not Under the Law
Job’s Niece
THE CHRISTMAS BRIDE Page 27
