"This dampness and mist is as bad as a pouring rain," said Pauline, on the way from church. "You had better fasten your muffler close about your throat, Maurice, and turn up your coat collar; I fear this will bring on your cough again."
When they reached the parsonage Pauline saw that the fires were built and the rooms warmed and dried, although it was early summer. The dry, hacking cough that Mr. Thorpe was subject to was something to be fought and doctored continually. And in this instance Pauline's fears seemed to be well grounded; soon after dinner Mr. Thorpe was seized with a paroxysm of coughing, followed by a spell of weakness. By evening a low fever had developed and it was thought best to send for Dr. Eldrige.
The old doctor came, examined the patient and gave minute directions for his care; after this he came every day for a week. At the end of this time Mr. Thorpe's condition was greatly improved, and one day when alone with him Dr. Eldrige broached a subject that had been much in his mind since he began calling at the parsonage.
"Thorpe," he said, in his usual blunt manner, "what has brought about your wife's recovery? A few months ago she was a stricken invalid; now we see her in the full flush of health. Some great physician must have been consulted--or some occult power. It might be well for you to get around with your explanations if you value her reputation or your own."
Had Dr. Eldrige unsheathed a dagger and stabbed his patient, the blow could scarcely have been keener felt. For a time he repented his blunt words, for Mr. Thorpe's distress and agitation were alarming. The doctor mixed a stimulating draught and gave it to him, and at the same time, in a quiet, smooth manner, introduced another topic of conversation and soon after took his departure. He congratulated himself on being an adept at dealing crushing blows.
"I have, I think, given our pious pastor something to think about," he chuckled as he left the parsonage.
At the end of another week the delayed preparations for their departure were resumed, and a few days later the family separated, Pauline to spend the summer in the old home town with a relative and the pastor and his wife enroute for the little village among the mountains.
The old couple gave Mr. and Mrs. Thorpe a warm greeting and a hearty welcome to their simple, wholesome home. They acquainted them with the resources of the place; gave them directions for reaching the mountain peaks; showed them the mountain stream where the speckled trout abounded; pointed out to them the woodland path that led to the lake and the glades and dells where the wild flowers grew, and then left them to make their own plans and find their own amusements.
To Mrs. Thorpe the place seemed like a fairy bower, a land of enchantment--one of her old daydreams come true. Here were the beauties of God's world, indescribable, luxurious, exquisite. Why had He made the hills and mountains so fair? Why were the skies so azure blue, the air so rare and sweet with the breath of flowers? Why do the waters of the rippling lake lay smiling in the sun? And why does the sun bathe woodland and field, mountain and lake in golden glory and flaming splendor? One of the books that she had read, the work of a popular scientist, told her that Nature's works are fixed and fashioned regardless of man; that in the plan of the universe no account was taken of his needs, and no cognizance of his desires. She recalled another book which told her that man is the central object of the universe and that all things are created to minister to his needs and desires. But deep in her own heart she believed the realities of life, all beauty, truth and harmony to be reflections of the one Life.
"It may be that mine was a case of too many books," she thought. "I depended too much on the knowledge that can be derived from the works of man, and considered too little the wisdom that comes from God, and can never come in any other way than by direct revelation--the heart of God speaking to the heart of man: 'Be still and know that I am God.'" And in this stillness, this sanctuary and solemn grandeur, there opened before her an unwritten book--the overreaching Law of Love, the compelling goodness of God.