Part 30 (1/2)

It seemed as if with that word the last feeble support gave way, and then Roderick McRae's soul went down to the black brink of despair. He was utterly alone, without help or friend. Everything, his success, his health, his father, his love, had been s.n.a.t.c.hed from him in one moment.

There was even no G.o.d for him. He had been so long dependent entirely upon himself, that G.o.d had become a meaningless word. And now, if G.o.d were real, His cruel Hand was behind that fearful black mist that was closing about him shutting him off from hope. He lay like a log, staring at the white ceiling of the little hospital room. The nurse and the orderly were bidding him brace up and were shaking their heads over him. He paid no more attention to them than to the strong odour of drugs or the soft click-click of heels on the hardwood floor of the corridor. Some subtle trick of memory had taken him back to the one other time of despair in his experience. He was back again in that night, years ago, when he was lost on the lake, drifting away in the darkness to unknown terrors; and just as he had cried out that night, his whole soul rose in one desperate demand upon his Father for help.

”Oh, G.o.d!” he groaned, starting up, ”oh, G.o.d, help me!”

And then it happened; the great wonder. The light from his Father's boat! The sound of his Father's voice! Just as, long ago, lost in mists and darkness, a prey to every terror, his father's voice, calling down the shaft of light, had caught him up from despair to the heights of joy, so it was now. Suddenly, without reason, there fell upon the young man's writhing soul a great calm. He lay back on his pillow, perfectly still, his whole being held in awe of what had happened. For there, in the common light of day, within the bare walls of the hospital room, not visible to the human eye, but plain to the eye of the soul, staring beyond the things that are seen for a gleam of hope, a Presence was quietly standing. Serene, omnipotent, all-calming, the gracious One stood, close to his side, and fear and pain fled before Him.

Roderick was conscious of no feeling of surprise or wonder. He felt only a great serenity, and an absolute safety. He asked no questions, felt no desire to ask any. There had been another young man once, who had met this same One in a like headlong career, planned by his own strong right hand, and he had cried out in fear, ”Who art thou, Lord?”

But Roderick knew just as well as he had known his father's voice that night coming out of the mists and darkness. His Eternal Father was at his side. That was all he knew now. It was all he cared to know. He lay there in perfect peace and, close to his side, silent and strong, stood the Presence.

The orderly pushed up the little wheeled conveyance to the bedside, the nurse took his wrist in her hand again. She beamed happily. ”Good for you,” she said, as she placed her hand upon his forehead. ”Why, you're splendid. You've got your nerve all right,” and she stared in amazement when Roderick smiled at her. He did not answer, though, he was listening to something. All the old promises he had learned at his father's knee and that had meant nothing to him for so long, were flooding over his peaceful soul, coming serenely and softly from the Presence standing by his pillow.

”When thou pa.s.sest through the waters, I will be with thee and through the rivers they shall not overflow thee; when thou walkest through the fire, thou shalt not be burned; neither shall the flame kindle upon thee... Thou shalt not be afraid for the terror by night; nor for the arrow that flieth by day, nor for the pestilence that walketh in darkness.”

”Now, sir,” said the orderly, ”we'll just move you onto this truck.”

But Roderick rose up strongly. ”Why can't I walk down?” he asked. The nurse stared and again felt the patient's pulse for some explanation of this transformation. The quiet steady beat in the wrist was the strangest part of it all.

”Well,” she cried admiringly, ”I never saw anything like you. You're perfectly able to walk; but you'd better save your strength. Just lie down on this. You'll be all over your operation in no time!” Roderick obeyed, and the orderly wheeled him away to the elevator; and along the bare hospital corridor moved with him that strong Presence. And he went with a perfect faith and as little fear as if he had been going along the Pine Road to his home. What did it matter as to the result, or what did it matter that his father back in Algonquin did not know?

He and his father were safe, upheld by the everlasting arms. It was well, no matter what the outcome. When he reached the operating room the Presence was there, just as real as the m.u.f.fled doctors standing ready to do their work, and when he was stretched upon the table taking the anaesthetic, he felt as peaceful as on that night when he sank asleep in his father's arms and was borne safely homeward.

It seemed that the next moment he awoke in the room he had so recently left. Dr. Nicholls was at his side. ”A normal pulse,” he said, smiling into Rod's enquiring face. ”You're a wonder. What do you think of that, nurse?”

”I expected that,” she said, smiling.

”You've behaved so well,” continued the doctor, ”that I believe you're able to receive two pieces of good news.”

”My father,” whispered Roderick. The doctor nodded happily. ”A telegram came half-an-hour ago. It reads, 'Out of danger, no need to come, will write. E. Brians.'” Roderick felt the tears slipping over his cheek. The nurse wiped them away. He was remembering it all now.

The Presence had been with his father too.

”You haven't asked about my other news,” said the doctor.

Roderick looked at him enquiringly. He was thinking of Helen, and had forgotten all about the operation.

”Berger saved your arm. And it will be as fit as ever in a few months.

It was the most delicate kind of operation, and one of the finest he ever did. I shall tell you more about it later, you must be quiet now.

But I must give you Dr. Berger's message. He had to leave for Halifax, but he said he wished he could congratulate you on your nerve. I don't know what you did to get hold of yourself in such a hurry, but you saved your own life. Now, I've told you enough. You must neither speak nor be spoken to until I see you again.”

He smiled again, radiant with the true scientist's joy over such a triumph of skill as Roderick's arm presented, and left the room.

And Roderick, who knew so much more about it all than mere science could ever teach, closed his eyes and lay still, his whole soul raising to its new-found G.o.d one inarticulate note of thanksgiving.

CHAPTER XIV

”FOLLOW THE GLEAM”

It was the first trip of the season and the _Inverness_ was crowded from stem to stern. The picnic was given by the Sons of Scotland, so every Presbyterian in the town was there. But there were many more, for Lawyer Ed had gone out into the highways and byways of other denominations and nationalities and had compelled Methodists and Anglicans and Baptists and folk of every creed to come over to the Island and hear the bagpipes and see Archie Blair toss the caber.

”Your father's got to come, Rod,” he said, the evening before the picnic. ”So don't you dare show your nose here without him to-morrow.”

But Old Angus laughingly refused his son's pleading. ”Tuts, tuts,” he said reprovingly, ”it's the foolish boy that Edward is. He is younger than you, Lad. Indeed I'll not be going, and I think you should jist stay at home yourself, my son. The night air will be damp and you will not be jist too strong yet.”