Part 64 (1/2)

”One can't always,” he said.

”Oh, have you found that too?” she asked.

He smiled at the question. ”Of course I have. So has everybody. We're only children, Stella. G.o.d knows that. He doesn't expect of us more than we can manage. Prayer is only one of the means we have of reaching Him.

It can't be used always. There are some people who haven't time for prayer even, and yet they may be very near to G.o.d. In times of stress like yours one is often much nearer than one realizes. You will find that out quite suddenly one of these days, find that through all your desert journeying, He has been guiding you, protecting you, surrounding you with the most loving care. And--because the night was dark--you never knew it.”

”The night is certainly very dark,” Stella said with a tremulous smile.

”If it weren't for you I don't think I could ever get through.”

”Oh, don't say that!” he said. ”If it weren't me it would be someone else--or possibly a closer vision of Himself. There is always something--something to which later you will look back and say, 'That was His lamp in the desert, showing the way.' Don't fret if you can't pray! I can pray for you. You just keep on being brave and patient! He understands.”

Stella's fingers pressed upon his. ”You are good to me, Bernard,” she said. ”I shall think of what you say--the next time I am alone in the night.”

His arm held her sustainingly. ”And if you're very desolate, child, come and call me!” he said. ”I'm always at hand, always glad to serve you.”

She smiled--a difficult smile. ”I shall need you more--afterwards,” she said under her breath. And then, as if words had suddenly become impossible to her, she leaned against him and kissed him.

He gathered her up close, as if she had been a weary child. ”G.o.d bless you, my dear!” he said.

CHAPTER VI

THE FIRST GLIMMER

It was from the Colonel himself that Stella heard of Everard's retirement.

He walked back from the Mess that night with Tommy and asked to see her for a few minutes alone. He was always kinder to her in his wife's absence.

She was busy installing the new _ayah_ whom Peter with the air of a magician who has but to wave his wand had presented to her half an hour before. The woman was old and bent and closely veiled--so closely that Stella strongly suspected her disfigurement to be of a very ghastly nature, but her low voice and capable manner inspired her with instinctive confidence. She realized with relief from the very outset that her faithful Peter had not made a mistake. She was sure that the new-comer had nursed sickly English children before. She went to the Colonel, leaving the strange woman in charge of her baby and Peter hovering rea.s.suringly in the background.

His first greeting of her had a touch of diffidence, but when he saw the weary suffering of her eyes this was swallowed up in pity. He took her hands and held them.

”My poor girl!” he said.

She smiled at him. Pity from an outsider did not penetrate to the depths of her. ”Thank you for coming,” she said.

He coughed and cleared his throat. ”I hope it isn't an intrusion,” he said.

”But of course not!” she made answer. ”How could it be? Won't you sit down?”

He led her to a chair; but he did not sit down himself. He stood before her with something of the air of a man making a confession.

”Mrs. Monck,” he said, ”I think I ought to tell you that it was by my advice that your husband resigned his commission.”

Her brows drew together a little as if at a momentary dart of pain. ”Has he resigned it?” she said.

”Yes. Didn't he tell you?” He frowned. ”Haven't you seen him? Don't you know where he is?”

She shook her head. ”I can only think of my baby just now,” she said.