Part 65 (2/2)
”There is no love nor obedience in me,” he repeated, searching my eyes, as if to see whether there were anything to be said to that.
”No; you are sick at heart, and dying, unless you can be cured. Can you trust Jesus to cure you? They that be whole need not a physician, He says, but those that are sick.”
He was silent, gazing at me.
”Can you lay your heart, just as it is, at Jesus' feet, and ask him to take it and make it right? He says, Come.”
”What must _I_ do?”
”Trust Him.”
”But you are mistaken,” he said. ”I am not good.”
”No,” said I; and then I know I could not keep back the tears from springing; - ”Jesus did not come to save the good. He came to save you. He bids you trust Him, and your sins shall be forgiven, for He gave His life for yours; and He bids you come to Him, and He will take all that is wrong away, and make you clean.”
”Come?” - the sick man repeated.
”With your heart - to his feet. Give yourself to Him. He is here, though you do not see Him.”
The man shut his eyes, with a weary sort of expression overspreading his features; and remained silent. After a little while he said slowly -
”I think - I have heard - such things - once. It is a great while ago. I don't think I know - what it means.”
Yet the face looked weary and worn; and for me, I stood beside him and my tears dripped like a summer shower. Like the first of the shower, as somebody says; the pressure at my heart was too great to let them flow. O life, and death! O message of mercy, and deaf ears! O open door of salvation, and feet that stumble at the threshold! After a time his eyes opened.
”What are you doing there?” he said vaguely.
”I am praying for you, dear friend.”
”Praying?” said he. ”Pray so that I can hear you.”
I was well startled at this. I had prayed with papa; with no other, and before no other, in all my life. And here were rows of beds on all sides of me, wide-awake careless eyes in some of their occupants; nurses and attendants moving about; no privacy; no absolute stillness. I thought I could not; then I knew I must; and then all other things faded into insignificance before the work Jesus came to do and had given me to help. I knelt down, not without hands and face growing cold in the effort; but as soon as I was once fairly speaking to my Lord, I ceased to think or care who else was listening to me. There was a deep stillness around; I knew that; the attendants paused in their movements, and words and work I think were suspended during the few minutes when I was on my knees. When I got up, the sick man's eyes were closed. I sat down with my face in my hands, feeling as if I had received a great wrench; but presently Miss Yates came with a whispered request that I would do something that was required just then for somebody. Work set me all right very soon. But when after a while I came round to Preston again, I found him in a rage.
”What _has_ come over you?” he said, looking at me with a complication of frowns. I was at a loss for the reason, and requested him to explain himself.
”You are not Daisy!” he said. ”I do not know you any more.
What has happened to you?”
”What do you mean, Preston?”
”Mean!” said he with a fling. ”What do _you_ mean? I don't know you.”
I thought this paroxysm might as well pa.s.s off by itself, like another; and I kept quiet.
”What were you doing just now,” said he savagely, ”by that soldier's bedside?”
”That soldier? He is a dying man, Preston.”
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