"Ian!"
Through all that earthly hell, filled with death and horror of suffering, above the crying of the men, above the screams of the wounded, the voices of fear and agony, this wonderful voice passed along, swift as the lightning, yet full of the divinest melody.
These events so marvelous to Ian had not occupied more than a moment or two of time. Then there was another rush of men with the assurance that it would be the last. They swept Ian with them, but Davie, still standing by his child, just shook his head and repeated his decision, "Nay, I'll stay with the lad"; and the crowd, with fire behind them, struggled to the cage and were drawn up to the sunshine.
At the pit mouth Ian met the rescue company of the pit and the physicians, and he untied his horse and rode away into the woods and hills. He was weeping unconsciously, washing every word he uttered with tears of repentance and love.
"Oh, it is wonderful!" he cried. "Wonderful! Wonderful! Out of all the millions of men in this world, God knew my name. He knew where I was. He called me by my name. Oh, miracle of love!"
All the way to Ambleside he rode slowly. He was in a transport of love and joy—had he not been veritably taken by God's love "out of hell"? He was thrilled with wonder, and he would make no haste. He bent his soul to the heavenly influences which had made the last few hours forever memorable. So his prayers grew sweeter and calmer. They had in them the voices of the night wind, the awe of the stars, and the rustle of unseen wings. And, just as he was entering Ambleside, his Bible took part in his happiness and whispered to his heart a verse he had read hundreds of times, but which at this hour seemed to have been written specially for him.
"Fear thou not. I have redeemed thee. I have called thee by thy name. Thou art mine."—Isaiah 43:1.
He knew then what he was to do.