This woman's life was a busy one; heart and hands were full. She had wealth at her disposal, and social duties made their demands upon her; church work appealed to her, and her family of children knew her as their counselor and best friend. If there were past chapters in this woman's life that caused her to be especially tender and sympathetic toward the young wife of her pastor, and yet gave her the wisdom to know that the trouble lay too deep for mortal hand to touch, she made no sign and spoke no word, but in the silence her heart spoke to the troubled heart of her friend. And Mrs. Thorpe never named her trouble, or by the slightest word disclosed the doubts that came to her. Whatever help she received she imbibed from her friend's personality and gleaned from her quiet, well-balanced life.
Unable to rid herself of her troubled thoughts, the next day Mrs. Thorpe dropped in upon this friend. And during the call she discussed the church choir with Mrs. Mayhew's niece, Geraldine, who was the church organist.
"I think we should have some new music," Mrs. Thorpe said. "Since Max Morrison has consented to sing in the choir, with his strong tenor voice we can undertake some things which we could not before. I am glad that Max has promised to help us. So much depends on the choir. People will go where they can hear good music."
Geraldine made some suggestions regarding the new music, and Mrs. Mayhew readily agreed with Mrs. Thorpe that the choir has much to do with the success of the modern church.
At the service the next Sunday morning Mr. Thorpe gave a strong, scholarly address. But it was not the sermon, neither was it the strong tenor, nor the new music that caught Mrs. Thorpe's attention. She was coming to regard the service hour on Sunday as the hardest time of the week. For strive, struggle and pray as she would, she could not always bring herself into a proper frame of mind; could not keep the spirit of worship.
Sometimes a thought from her husband's sermon would flash out before her, confront her and torment her. At this stage of her life the thought, "I do not believe," never confronted her boldly and openly; but always there was the subtle insinuation, "Do you believe?" Sometimes her soul's agony was caused by the attitude of the people, lavishly dressed, ostentatiously worshipful. Then instead of worship in her own heart she would be possessed by scathing scorn. But this morning it was the songs that caused her undoing. Her husband took his place in the pulpit and the choir sang the opening hymn; and a line, a thought from the song attacked Mrs. Thorpe:
"Lord Jesus, look down from thy throne in the skies,
And help me to make a complete sacrifice."
Mrs. Thorpe felt herself without rudder or sail, her bark at the mercy of a stormy sea. Her mind was chaotic:
"The Lord Jesus Christ then was sitting comfortably, contentedly upon His throne in the skies! What wonder that His people are straying in many forbidden paths? What wonder that they are wandering, scattered and lost? Are they not as sheep without a shepherd? If He is the Savior of men, why is He not among His people--oh, his people who so sorely need Him?"
The thought brought the tears to her eyes; but the next thought choked them abruptly: