Chapter XXI: "o Thou of Little Faith."

THROUGH fourteen weary days and nights Mona had tossed and murmured ceaselessly, in burning fever and delirium. And then came the longed-for sleep, quieting down the throbbing pulses, and hushing the wearing pain. For hours she lay in that deep heaven-sent repose, while the flush faded from her check, and the look of suffering from her brow.

Just when little Nannie was enjoying the bright western colouring, and when Madge, in her silent watch, had noticed how even the dim sick-room was gaining a reflection of the outer glow, there came for the first time some words in a clear and natural though feeble voice.

"Madge, what makes the air so full of red?"

It had been "mother" instead of Madge, during the last fortnight, and in truth not even Mona's own mother could have nursed her with more devoted tenderness.

"It's the sunset, Miss Mona," Madge said gently, while her heart beat fast with joyful relief.

A glass of pale liquid on the table awaited this moment of first awakening. It was given and taken, and then Mona said drowsily, "I should like to see the shining on the water."

She was asleep again before Madge needed to answer, and through the two nights and days following, the same calm slumber lasted. They could scarcely rouse her at intervals sufficiently to receive needful nourishment. Fair and pale as a snow-drop she lay there, with one white cheek resting lightly on her wasted hand. And the somewhat oppressed and troubled look, which had been visible in her first sleep, was exchanged now for an expression of such complete repose, that Madge bent many a time over the bed, to listen anxiously for the calm breathing which never failed to reassure her.

Nearly forty-eight hours had elapsed since the red sunset, when Mona showed symptoms at length of fairly waking up. Mr. Chetwynd was out, but the ever-watchful Madge was at hand with proper nourishment, delicately prepared and served. Mona seemed ready to take any amount, but she obeyed when told she had had enough, and only said, "Come and sit down beside me."

"Won't you go to sleep again, Miss Mona?"

"I'm not sleepy—I am wide awake. Madge, have I been very ill?"

"Yes, but thank God, you're better now, Miss Mona."

A sigh answered her. Madge kept silence, but Mona was evidently in a talking mood, for she soon began again—

"I can't remember things clearly. I wish I could. It seems to me as if the last clear thing was that drive from the Dingle."

"You were taken ill that very evening, Miss Mona; and Mr. Prior's been twice a day since to ask after you, and has prayed many a time by your bedside."

"Has he? I am glad," said Mona involuntarily. "But—uncle Chetwynd—"

"He never spoke a word against it, Miss Mona, though he held back from joining."

"Madge—have I talked a great deal?" asked Mona suddenly.

"Pretty well, Miss Mona. But I wouldn't begin thinking and speaking about all that now, if I was you. It's bad for your head. You'd better rest."

"No—I have had rest—I am better now. I wish you would come here and sit close beside me. I want to tell you something."

Madge changed her position at once, putting aside her work, and letting Mona's head rest upon her arm.

"Yes, that is nice. Mother used to do just so, last time I was ill. I've seen her so often lately, Madge—not really of course, but—O Madge—do you think—"

"Yes, dear Miss Mona."

"Am I wrong?" whispered Mona. "I did think I was going home to mother—and I can't be glad now."

Madge's cool fingers were passed lightly over her brow.

"It's best to be willing to wait the Master's own time, Miss Mona."

"I think it is hard not to wish," said Mona.

"Maybe the Lord 'll have you wait, dear Miss Mona, till it's Himself and not your mother that makes the glory and joy of your heaven."

"Ah, but it is—it is that too," said Mona quickly. "Not enough, I know—but I have learnt more of Him now than I knew before."

Then, after a little break, during which Madge expected that something else was coming—"I want to tell you a sort of dream I had."

"Wouldn't it be better to wait till you're stronger, Miss Mona?"

"No, I am not tired. It will do me good to talk." She spoke so quietly and firmly, that Madge fancied it might be so indeed, and did not oppose her.

"I don't know when it was, or whether I was wandering or asleep, Madge. I have had so many fancies and dreams that I get puzzled among them, only this was quite different from all the rest. I thought I was out alone in a little boat on the sea—such a wild rough sea. The great waves were rising and falling, and flinging their spray all over me, and breaking up against one another in the mad sort of way they do out beyond the Point on a stormy day. It was such spray, and the mist was so thick, that I was half-blinded, and so tired and cold and sad, that I seemed to have no strength to row. Just as I have often felt. And all sorts of dreadful thoughts and feelings of doubt kept rising up, and I had no power to conquer them.

"And all at once I saw a dark gloomy figure coming towards me over across the water—softly, slowly, with such an awful stillness, and long black robes sweeping down into the waves, which seemed to lull before him as he came. Madge, you don't know how frightened I was. For I knew I could not escape. I knew quite well that what I saw was the Angel of Death, coming to take me. I had not been afraid of death in my illness before that, but now in the midst of doubt, and thick mist, and dashing waves, it seemed terrible. And there was the bright sword gleaming in his hand in the moonlight, and his face was all muffled up, but I knew how stern it must be behind. And he never moved faster, but came slowly, slowly and steadily on, straight towards me, with the waves all still beneath his feet, but dashing more wildly than ever round me. Madge, do you see it all as I saw it?"

"I'm thinking I do, Miss Mona."

"He came closer and closer, and I knew I had no way of escape. It was quite hopeless. And I think gave one shriek of fear, as the hem of the dark heavy robe first touched me—so heavy and cold it felt. But then—then—oh, Madge!"

"Yes, Miss Mona, dear."

"Madge, if you could have seen as I did. He threw aside slowly, quietly, the dark cloak, and underneath was all one glory of dazzling kingly garments. And the shining sword, as I had thought it, was only a sceptre. And He let me see His face, which had been covered up—and oh, Madge, it was Himself!—my Lord! And I knew then that the Death-Angel was no stranger, but my own Master who loved me, and who had come, as I thought, to take me home. Madge, I wish He had. I wanted so to go. And the way He took me up in His arms, and held me, and smiled down on me, with a smile so sweet and bright that I could scarcely face it,—I don't know how I bore at that moment to think how I had doubted Him, and dared to question His doings. And the next thing was that I found myself down at His feet, clinging there, and trying to sob out a prayer for forgiveness—"

Mona was crying so that she could scarcely speak. "No, let me go on," she said, when Madge would have interposed. "I must tell you, and it won't hurt me. You don't know how terrible it was to me to think of the last few months—and it seemed as if I remembered everything clearly at that moment. And I knew He knew it too—and I dreaded even then that His anger might be coming. But instead of anger, He only said in the gentlest, tenderest tone of reproach—'O thou of little faith, wherefore didst thou doubt?'"

"And He does say it to each one of us," murmured Madge. "He's every bit the same now as in Peter's days."

"I knew it meant forgiveness," said Mona. "And I thought He was going to take me up, and carry me away with Him. For the mist had cleared off in His presence, and I could catch a glimpse of glory shining over the mountains in the distance. And I knew that my Home lay beyond, and that mother was there too. But He only laid His hand on my head, and said still more sweetly—'My grace is sufficient for thee, for My strength is made perfect in weakness.' And then when I looked up, He was gone, and the mist had disappeared, and the water was still, so I just lay down in my boat, and went to sleep. And the next time I woke up, I found myself in bed, with a strange red look in the air, and you beside me. I knew then that I was getting well. O Madge, was it all a dream, or did I see Him really?"

"'Twas a word of comfort sent to your heart, anyway, Miss Mona. I'd take it so, and doubt no more."

"And you don't think I am wrong to wish I were safe out of all the fighting?"

"Maybe a little wanting in courage, dear Miss Mona. I do think the Lord likes us to want to be with Him, and to see His glory. But it wouldn't do neither in a battle, if all the soldiers were crying out that they were so tired of fighting, they wanted to go straight home and rest. I don't know how ever the victory would be won. I think the Captain would say—'Fight on, my lads, and conquer first, and then 'll come your rest.' And the Master has a right to look for us to be willing and glad to do His work, so long as He has work He wants us to do. Home 'll be all the happier after, for the waiting."

"Don't you ever feel impatient?" asked Mona.

"I've three sorts of feelings about it, Miss Mona. One is, I've a wish to stay here just as long as my Master wills I should. Another is, I've a deal of longing to see His Face. Another is, I can't help thinking how now's the very last time through all Eternity that I'll be able to show Him my love, by bearing pain and trouble for His sake. There 'll be service and praise in Heaven, but there 'll be no showing of patience, under pain and sorrow, to honour His Name. I don't know as I'd wish to have it over-much shortened, though I'll be right glad too, when the day comes to go Home. But 'tis sweet to be waiting and bearing for Him now."

"I never thought of that," said Mona. "And I have borne so little for His sake, and hardly worked for Him at all. Madge, I think you have made me glad that He has not taken me away just yet."

And Mona fell asleep again, with her head on Madge Hardwicke's arm, and a smile upon her lips. She did not know how Madge sat there, and prayed that she might be kept by the "Keeper of Israel" through all the dangers and difficulties of her future Homeward journey.